


Starkissed

by LadyDijana



Category: Predator/Alien - Fandom
Genre: Action/Adventure, Eventual Sexual Content, Explicit Language, F/M, Friendship, Horror Elements, Human Female - Freeform, May contain non-con elements, Original Character(s), Romance, Some Humor, Yautja Male
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:27:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26402656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDijana/pseuds/LadyDijana
Summary: New arrivals spell trouble for a woman used to the monotony of living on a Space Station in the ass-end of the Galaxy. What the hell does the United Systems Military want with this floating hunk of junk? And, more importantly, who or what is the owner of that sweet invisible ship moored in the dead dock? Something weird is going on, and getting off The Last Oasis might just become a priority.
Relationships: human/predator
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Standard Disclaimer applies: I don't own anything, have never owned anything, and will never own anything (from Aliens, Predator, etc.) I do, however, own my imagination and the OC's I create.
> 
> Also, fair warning, English isn't my first language, so I apologise in advance for any grammatical or spelling errors you may find. I do try to make as few as possible.

His ship was damaged.

His sensors detected some of it, but they had to be damaged as well, since only minimal alerts flashed on the panel in front of him, and homeostasis functions were cutting in and out.

Right now, a sudden absence of gravity would have floated him out of his command chair if not for the necessary restraints for atmospheric breach. It took but a few moments for gravity to reassert itself, and he click-hissed his displeasure at the instant drop, and added weight - a bit more pressure that was natural for his kind.

Breathable air had disappeared a yit ago. Thank Paya, he'd kept most of his gear on, including the biomask.

Vor'mekta Thei-de knew he was a good pilot, if not an exceptional one, and getting on That Pauk-de Planet to hunt had been pup play. Getting off was a whole different challenge of its own.

٢ȣԄԄ-589*42 was the planets official galactic designation on the star-maps, and it wasn't his first hunting trip to its surface either. However, the last time he'd been here, about 60 solar cycles ago, he hadn't been the pilot, and the ship had not been his personal vessel. It _**had**_ been quite a bumpy ride though, even in a Clan Scouting Bird designed to take a beating.

His own ship was smaller, sleeker, faster, and designed for his personal hunting use with minimal fuss. He didn't need more than a small galley, basic med-bay and spartan personal quarters located on the same level as the command center, to function independently of the Clan Ship. A small hold and engineering were right under his feet. It was more than adequate, and it should have been more than capable of breaching That Pauk-de Planet's protective upper atmosphere more than once without hardship!

The urge to smash his fist on the console was fierce, but he didn't need the possible added damage his rising agitation demanded, so he restrained himself. Barely. He did viciously sink his claws into the armrests though.

The planet in question had a protective layer of debris floating around it from an asteroid colliding with two of its four moons about a million solars ago, leaving only two moons intact. The impact had pockmarked the planet - wiping it clean, its surface recovering enough for incursion only in recent millennia, allowing a species of deadly prey to evolve underground as its main population.

Evading the ever-shifting remnants of collision debris on entry had been easy, the upper atmosphere had been the difficulty, as it gave off a constant, if weak, electromagnetic pulse rendering all exterior sensors useless.

Basically Vor'mekta Thei-de had had to fly blind until breaching the lower atmosphere and hovering until his sensors had re-calibrated to normal function for landing.

٢ȣԄԄ-589*42 or That Pauk-de Planet, as he was privately starting to call it, wasn't anything to comm. the Clan Ship about as its resources were negligible to Yautja, the semi-sentient insectoid race of vicious quadrupeds who were its natural dominant species were the only thing of interest.

Every ten solars, a mating heat would trigger the larger of its species - the females, to venture above ground in search of new nesting grounds to mate and burrow. They made for a challenging hunt only under this one circumstance, otherwise, they were almost impossible to lure to the surface.

There were a few more annoyances Vor'mekta Thei-de'd had to deal with, such as landing in a pauk-de marsh, the only available surface flat enough to put his ship down, and a continuing deluge of rain which had interfered with his cloaking ability. He could have left his ship in hover mode, but that would have unnecessarily depleted his limited fuel cells.

He wouldn't even think about the irritation of the frequent seismic activity, which was apparently triggered because of the endless tunnels underneath the planet. All it had done was interfere with his biomasks movement sensors; pinging constant alerts, which he'd had to ignore at first, and then take a break from his stalking to re-calibrate.

He hated wasting time on a hunt.

Vor'mekta Thei-de thought of the new trophy added to his hold and loosed a satisfactory clicking trill, his tension easing slightly.

The hunt at least had been satisfying.

He'd located a mature female, pursued her and engaged the moment she'd sensed with aggressive outrage his presence invading her claimed territory. The creature had been twice the length of him and five times the weight, covered with a carapace of natural armor. She'd had deadly pincers on four upper arms, serrated spikes on her four legs, and a very sharp crushing mandible.

A worthy opponent in every way, and a fierce battle that'd had his blood roaring. She had even managed to make him bleed, and Vor'mekta Thei-de would keep the soon to be scar on his side in her honor.

All satisfaction of a good hunt had left him, however, the moment his sensors had failed to reengage in time as he'd left the electromagnetic interference.

A short delay was anticipated, he'd calculated that into the velocity needed to escape the planets gravitational pull, but for some reason it took longer than usual, and in that time he'd flown blind into the asteroid field.

Vor'mekta Thei-de had managed to manually maneuver and visually avoid the larger masses of rock capable of crushing his ship, but he'd felt the impact of several smaller pieces, and one had managed to puncture his hull in engineering, the last being the most concerning because it had happened right as his sensors had come online, and every alert in his ship had gone off in a chaos of cascading alarms.

He'd had to ignore almost all of them to maneuver past the last of the debris, and as soon as he'd successfully entered dark space, had to focus on damage control to the most necessary - that being the thrusters first, and navigation second. All the rest could wait a bit.

That was yits ago.

He was still moving, and now had something of a heading, which was all good, but he wouldn't make it to the Clan Ship in this condition, which was not.

Vor'mekta Thei-de had no wish to die in dark space, it would be humiliating, though better than having to engage a distress signal to the Clan Ship. He'd almost prefer it if his Clan thought he'd died honorably in a fight on the planet's surface.

Realistically, it was only a matter of time until all systems failure.

He was ****not**** pleased.

Not to mention the scratch he'd gotten for his victory was starting to irritatingly burn.

A shrill call from the console drew Vor'mekta Thei-de from his thoughts, alerting him that his fuel cells were running lower than anticipated, and he would need to do something about it sooner rather than later.

He couldn't help an annoyed growl, and went back to scanning for an appropriate place to land that was within range, and with a tinge of wishful thinking, had a repair dock.

He wordlessly growled again, low and menacing as the ship lurched, jerking his body painfully into the restraints and back into the seat, the twittering of alerts and alarms growing frantic.

Then a sole deep beep and total darkness, and utter silence cut him off mid growl.

Vor'mekta Thei-de watched, seething, as a blob of fluorescent green floated past his eye shields.

He ****really**** hated That Pauk-de Planet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's curious... the title of this story is in honor of a Sci-Fi Romance book, one of the first I'd read and loved in the genre -Starkissed by Lanette Curnigton, which also features a kind of lizardman as its hero :D


	2. Chapter 2

10.2354 – Space Station Way-Yu.441 – The Last Oasis – Edge of the Milky Way Galaxy

"Move it, space roach!"

I barely process the shout from behind when I feel a rough shove, and go flying face-first into the wall. Thankfully, I manage to catch myself with my hands before dashing my nose into the rough metal, but my torso and limbs aren't as lucky.

_Goddamn Ow! That hurt!_

I immediately spin around, intending to rip the owner of that voice a new asshole, "Hey! What the fu-!?" I start, thinking one of the Dockers got careless with a Power Loader for the dozenth time, or the usual, someone's fucking wasted again when I vaguely notice it belongs to a Station Officer.

I instantly snap my mouth shut.

But I can't catch the glare out of my eyes quick enough to save my life, and the bastard notices - if his sudden stop and spine snapping straight in my direction are any indications.

Quickly averting my eyes to the floor, I silently fume at his careless brutality, while muttering an insincere apology, doing my damnedest to project the aura of an apologetic woman.

It isn't much of a stretch once I take a good peek at the outfit the shove happy jackass is wearing - all black with five gold stripes on the upper arms.

_S_ _hit, not an S.O. Fuck-itty fuck fuck! How did I miss that?_ Or the identically uniformed six-man crew behind him kitted out for a war zone!

_What the hell is the United Systems Military doing here, of all places?!_ I ask myself, as a slow horror crawls up my tightening throat.

Black Shells have a reputation, even out here, and it sure as hell isn't giving out kittens and rainbows.

I hunch into myself and wait, praying for the wall I almost kissed to open up and swallow me whole. And I hope to Jupiter he just moves along. _Absolutely nothing to see here, man._

" ** **YOU!**** "

_My luck is shit today._ I think with growing dread, as a pair of shiny boots stomp into my field of view, and that grating bark comes from over my head. I can see my pale wide-eyed reflection on the toes of his shoes. Can actually feel the warmth of his breath in my hair, and it makes me want to shudder.

I ruthlessly suppress the instinct. _Keep it together, woman._

"You have a problem, ****roach****?" He asks, emphasizing that word.

Honestly, shoves aren't anything new, I've had worse. It goes with the groping, foul-mouthed territory of being a rare female mechanic on a Star-forsaken Space Station in the ass end of the Galaxy. It's not a fun combo, but I can deal. Usually. A swift wrench to the balls as an example early on clears matters up nicely, I find. 'Cause, apparently, men are sensitive about getting their equipment knocked up into their stomach cavity.

_I... don't think that's an option this time._

I clasp my hands behind my back to keep them from visibly trembling. "N-no! Apologies!" I stammer out. "I wasn't looking where I was heading." I'm grasping at straws here, blurting "My clumsy ass tripped and banged a toe. Hurts like a bitch, umm Sir!" _Here's hoping a touch of self-deprecation deescalates this shit fast._

A faint sceptical "Hmm" is the only warning I get before I feel a gloved finger under my chin.

With no other option, I have to lift my head up to look at him. And, _Holy shit!_ is right! My breath catches, my whole body drawing taut. _He_ _'_ _s gorgeous._ I think, unexpectedly floored.

Tall, toned, with broad shoulders, and a face to make a woman drool - I could actually feel saliva pool in my mouth.

He's older than my twenty-six, maybe in his late thirties/early forties, with a little salt and pepper starting at the sides of his dark blond regulation haircut. A strong jaw and chin, coupled with defined cheekbones make him some kind of perfection.

And to top it off; beautiful green eyes, slightly narrowed, and intensely studying me back. _Uh-oh._

It takes a moment, but after that first sucker punch to my usually inattentive libido, I ****really**** look at him, and what I see makes me want to haul ass away from his touch like he's a live wire.

I don't dare. _Steady girl._ Instead, I take a breath and draw myself straight, looking directly at him, frankly studying him back.

His mouth is a straight slash, with thin inviting lips, and slight pressure lines at its sides. _Jaw clenching_ _,_ I think, a bit dazed from the sudden emotional see-saw I'm experiencing.

With that face, an honest to god smile could probably devastate the whole female (and some of the male) population on the station. Privately, I don't think he smiles much, if ever.

It's his dazzling eyes though, that make me want to recoil. As beautiful as they are at first glance, looking at them is like looking into a glacier-fed lake. Cold, steady and masking a deep unpleasantness.

I can feel every single hair on my body rise in warning.

"Name and assignment." He barks, his hand dropping from my chin, his eyes giving me the once-over.

Flattering, I suppose, but I'm not inclined to feel flattered, dude almost pancaked me!

I narrow my eyes, cross my hands at my back, and coolly return the once over. When I get back up to his eyes, they're staring into mine. He seems tenser.

After a charged, challenge filled moment, I fix my eyes over his right shoulder but don't actually focus on anything in particular, I'm more interested in keeping him in my peripheral. I answer, keeping my voice steady "Karys Hunter. Station Mechanic and Maintenance, ****Sir****."

_And side nurse when necessary_ _._ I add silently. Which reminds me why I'm on the loading dock, on my day off, in the first place, when this fiasco started - Big Bob needs another antibiotic shot for a cut that got infected, and I should be on my way to find him, not standing here getting intimidated by Attila the Space Hun.

"Civilian." He states with a condescending nod as if to him, that explains why I don't have eyes in the back of my head for when asshats march through.

It takes everything I have not to roll my eyes at him. Self-preservation instinct is apparently higher ranked than sarcasm. _Good to know._

He suddenly moves a step closer, his chest brushing mine, and I can't help it, I drop my arms, flinching half a step back into the wall.

If I wasn't so hyper-aware of him, I would've missed the satisfied smirk that flitted briefly on his too handsome face. _Jackass._ I think with a touch of venom, while another, more sensible part of me, is relieved he can't see into my head.

Then he leans closer, and I do a perfect imitation of a statue.

His breath tickles my ear as he speaks softly "You'd do well to ****keep**** that attitude in check, Miss Hunter, I can see it, feel it, trying to breakthrough."

_Well, so much for him_ _not_ _being a mind-reader._ I inhale sharply, torn between staying quiet and giving him an earful. Before I can decide, his finger's back, tilting my face aside to his.

Our noses almost touch, he's that unnervingly close.

We lock eyes, and a half-mad urge to kiss him almost makes me panic, my heart racing. _What the actual fuck?!_

I stare at him, disbelieving that insane impulse. _OH, HELL TO THE N'TH NO!_ My mind screams, as I scramble for a calm I don't feel, and try desperately to fake. I admittedly have a weakness for strong, dominant men, but this is just ridiculous! This guy – is not getting on my wish list!

My astonished eyes drop to his lips, and I can almost taste his words, as he introduces himself.

"I am Commander Derrick Scott, and this is ****my**** Station now." he pauses and stresses "I expect ****everyone**** to fall in line, civilian Hunter."

_Or 'fall into my bed'_ my dumbass brain supplies, changing his words slightly, and I instantly want to slap myself in mortification. _Oh, seriously, Kay! What is wrong with you?!_ Oh Jupiter, I can feel my face heating.

He probably thinks my pink-faced, deer-in-the-headlights look is me being impressed or cowed, or what have you. _Ha! Nope! Just trying to internally scream some sense to my cracked self!_

_Ugh, there's that faint smirk again._ I notice with a fresh spike of irritation. _Whew, that's good, keep the irritation, lose the insta-lust._ Something tells me, Commander Scott here is well aware of his effect on women, and probably weaponized it for maximum damage years ago. He seems like the 'I say jump and you say how high, far and long' type.

Space Hun Commander is on the verge of saying something more when Bless the Stars, he's interrupted by a throat clearing to the side of us.

He immediately straightens away from me, and I feel like sagging to the wall at my back in relief.

We both turn our heads to see the dock manager, Jonah, standing impatiently a few paces away. "Apologies Commander. But I need Mech Hunter for an urgent repair."

_Boss, I could kiss_ _you_ _!_ I flash a quick grin at Jonah, glad beyond words at his timing.

"Right on it, Bossman!" I jump at the chance of escape, shuffling my body to the side and hopefully far away from ****him****.

Commander Scott raises an eyebrow at my sudden exuberance but thankfully doesn't comment. He just motions to his crew, and with a smart turn of his heel, followed by a swiftly barked "Move out!" they leave the bay.

Both Jonah, and I watch silently as they exit. And I'm now noticing the huge fully loaded grav sled Attila's six black minions are strategically positioned around. The cases on that sled are immense and I can't help my curiosity. _Weapons? Computers? Little green men with bazookas?_

_What? Seems a bit much for Black Shells to be escorting a delivery of rations._ _Though coffee_ _is_ _more coveted than gold in space._ I muse with a touch of relieved hysteria as the bay doors close behind them. That guy really rattled me, and that doesn't happen often.

Deciding to get out of my own head, I turn to Jonah, asking "So, what's the urgent repair, J? Or was that just a save?" It's not out of the realm of possibility, Jonah is a secret softy after all.

I briefly think of my day off, but decide to hell with it, I'd rather work than dwell on what just happened; that way lay a free pass to a padded room.

Jonah shrugs his thin shoulders while moving to his closet of an office, and I briskly follow.

"Looked like you needed an out, kid." He gives me a questioning look that I decide to ignore.

I really have no desire to talk about what-ever-the-hell that was out there.

After a moment, he accepts it and moves on to the topic at hand. "So, yeah, there's an issue. Not urgent though." he's quick to assure "Just a glitch at the Dead Dock."

"Dead Dock, huh?" I'm intrigued. "Been a while since any of us were down there. What's the issue?"

I could probably count the times I've been to the double D on one hand. None of us Mechs are too eager to go down there, it's creepy as fuck. And damp. A lot of the water pipes were re-routed there to the 'new' filtration system just above it.

Jonah rummages around his falling hazard of a desk and hands me a tablet as I carefully perch on the edge of a chair half stacked with, honest-to-Jupiter, actual paper repair manuals.

I can't help but snicker slightly, I'm always amused when I see them, ****everything**** is digital, but Jonah loves them, and won't hear about getting rid of the mess. These damn manuals are probably older than both of us combined, plus a hundred and fifty years.

He waves a hand dismissively, bringing me back to attention, saying "Probably nothing, but O is reporting a power surge, and I need someone to check it out."

He motions to the tablet in my hand, and true enough there's a slight spike in the power graph displayed. It was a few hours ago, early morning cycle. Odd, but nothing too concerning. Definitely worth a look though.

He casually leans on the overly cluttered desk and I brace for falling debris.

Amazingly it holds steady, and I listen, while keeping one eye it, as Jonah continues with a grumble "That dock hasn't been used in years. Probably not since the station's been upgraded, and that" he emphasizes "was over thirty years ago!"

He gets a frustrated look on his face, and I know what's next. We've all heard it a hundred times in a few variations. "Ever since Way-Yu supposedly tanked, and the United Systems Coalition took over, it's all falling to shit! At least ****they**** took care of their shit! These days, there are barely enough people here to keep this shit running. How am I supposed to keep this Station operational if..."

I tune out the rest of his rant about dwindling resources, slowed docking schedules, and fewer arrivals from the shipping lanes. I learned early on to throw in a couple of attentive nods, even when not really listening, maybe a few scattered "mhm"'s, for added effect.

_He...is not wrong._ Right now I'm more mentally engaged in that bit about there being fewer people on The Last Oasis, and I'm startled to realize it's true.

_Guess I wasn't imagining things this past couple of weeks_ , when I vaguely noticed a few more open tables at the mess, or the greenhouse being less crowded on my nightly walkthrough. Come to think of it, the Mech Labs (and I'm using that word lightly) were muted, too, and that place is _never_ quiet.

_Wait._

I twist around and lean awkwardly over my occupied chair to see out the open office door, and my jaw drops at what I'm not seeing, or hearing for that matter. No lines at the in/outtake office, no one running around with a tablet, yelling while checking cargo, no faint klaxon sounds from the outer breach doors signalling a docking ship. _Nada. Zip. Nul._

I stare, dumbfounded "Whoa. That's-"

"Yeah, whoa." Jonah repeats dryly, catching me off guard.

_I guess the rant's over._

Me and my chair thump forward to the hare and now. (I hadn't even noticed I'd been balancing it on its back legs until the jarring landing.) Now that I'm aware of the silence, it's weirding me out.

I shake my head in bewilderment "How am I just now noticing this? Where is everybody?" _I can't be that oblivious!_

"Seriously, kid?" Jonah gives me an incredulous look "Ever since that trader brought in that odd-ass pod thing a few weeks ago, you've been stuck to it like an e-magnet to hull plating!"

My mouth opens to refute that statement, but I close it quickly, because...well, he's not wrong. I shrug instead, admitting "I... do tend to get a bit absorbed in my work." _And that 'odd-ass pod thing' is_ _way_ _more interesting than anything else on this heap of space junk_ _._ Until now.

He grins "Sure, let's go with 'a bit'" followed by an exasperated head shake "Kid, I've had to chase you out of the Labs almost nightly, and the nights I didn't, I'd bet 50 Creds you slept in the supply room!"

I roll my eyes at his teasing, and concede with a laugh "Alright, ok. You've made your point, I'm a workaholic. But that only happened twice!" _Ok, five times_ _,_ but Jonah doesn't need to know that. And besides, a little packing material can make for a semi-comfy bed.

I wince slightly remembering my stiff back yesterday. _Almost semi-comfy_. I amend.

"Have you figured out what that pod thing is? Or how to open it yet?" he suddenly asks with undisguised interest, but then quickly changes his mind "You know what, never mind, it can wait."

I blink, surprised at the sudden one-eighty.

"Now that you're no longer a shut-in, here's what's been going on," Jonah says, pausing to run a hand through his hair and down his face. It's a telling gesture coming from him.

I lean forward, rest my elbows on my knees, and listen attentively. "A few days after you turned station hermit" he winks, but sobers instantly "the first USM ship arrived, sweet new model too, carrying tons of equipment and an official-looking, suit-wearing guy from Thedus." he sneers slightly, and I'm not sure it's for the suit or the official. Probably both.

"Far as I can tell, he went straight to the Station Boss for a couple of hours and then left, which is nothing too unusual, but right after, there came a comm. burst from the S.B. Office announcing the resettlement of all non-essential personnel off Station." he tells me, adding with severity "Effective immediately."

Astounded, I glance briefly at my wrist device, faintly remembering the message, but since I was in the middle of examining the mysterious newly acquired pod, and after all, station maintenance and mechanics are considered vital, I didn't give it much attention.

In hindsight, I should have, _I could have avoided Commander Scott._ Probably. Maybe.

Just as I'm processing this, Jonah hits me with a whammy "In the last ten days eighty-five percent of the population has been shuttled off The Last Oasis."

My jaw drops, and I sputter "B-but that's-" my minds scrambles to do the math.

Jonah nods grimly "374 people. The last shuttle left two hours ago."


	3. Chapter 3

The Wayland-Yutani 441 Space Station is as frontier as it gets, the last stop for a lot of ships before they continue to various settled planets. Its purpose, in the beginning, almost two hundred years ago, was to be a resting place for those that wished to venture past the edge of the Milky Way Galaxy (well, the edge as far as we've made it), curios and adventurous minds that wanted to see what lay beyond; scientists and explorers mostly.

Turned out, there's nothing much out there. Nothing interesting we can reach as of yet anyway, even with the new Faster Than Light drives, but I'm sure there's someone out in the Galaxy working hard on that.

The station's name is pretty much self-explanatory, but no one wanted to keep calling it Space Station Wayland-Yutani 441, even though The Corporation built it, maintained it and staffed it (everyone knows Way-Yu is as soulless as an entity can get... Still, people need work).

Fuel, food and trade have been its lifeblood since conception, and let me tell you, these things are as precious as water out here.

So, as the supposed renaming story goes (as I've heard it from dockers chatting - real gossipy bunch, these guys), in the early days of space travel, one special genius packed light for a trip between planetary settlements in a clunker of a short-jump shuttle (those things are not made for distance - ****at all**** ), and you guessed it, got lost - nav failure by all accounts.

Having floated in the Black for weeks, the guy was allegedly at least smart enough to carry an emergency rescue beacon. After Stars only know how long, he gets towed in by a trader ship whose Captain would not let him board his own vessel, probably thinking he was a pirate or something (hey, it happens!), and the beacon was a possible trap.

Que Genius guy finally reaching Way-Yu Station 441's dock. The doors open, and out comes this wild, half-starved, hairy Sasquatch of a human, looking like a space vagrant and smelling like one too. He'd apparently had to ration the last of his food and water until it finally ran out a dozen days before rescue, which meant absolutely no showers or washing of any kind - had to keep recycling his piss and sweat to live as long as he did. (I was told in disgusting detail I will not repeat.)

Anyway, out of the little beat up shuttle he scurries, and the first thing he lays eyes on, is a docker eating lunch and guzzling water like he's the one dehydrated to a dry prune. Genius guy tackles the unsuspecting docker, steals his lunch, and devours it, happily shouting in delirium "Thank Fuck, I made to an Oasis in this Stars Forsaken system! This is paradise at the ass end of the Galaxy!" while getting his ass handed to him by a hangry lunch-less docker.

I was never really sure if it's true or not, but it was fun watching and listening to the fellas tell it when I first got here.

After that, I guess the name kind of stuck, people started calling it "The Last Oasis", with some adding "at the ass end of the Galaxy" for a fully descriptive title.

They're not far wrong.

We, who live here, just call her O. - none of that disturbing Mother/Father crap Way-Yu names it's ship/station AIs.

I've been distracting myself with that amusing old memory while getting changed and grabbing my tool belt for the Dead Dock repair. What I'm really doing, is trying not to let my mind spin in circles about Jonah's news bomb, and the really creepy, silent walk I had to the MechLabs locker rooms.

_I can hardly believe this place is a sudden ghost town._

In its hay-day, The Last Oasis could house almost one thousand five hundred people in various occupations, from cleaning crew up to the Station Officers, plus the travellers, suppliers, and traders that were just passing through, and/or needed a couple of days off to relax.

The last few decades though, the numbers have steadily fallen to about five hundred souls who called this place home (more or less), me included.

Sometimes, it's hard to reconcile that I've spent almost half my life here. I left my settlement on Gliese 667Cb when I was fifteen, and never looked back. _Can't say I miss it._ I did use to miss being on a planet the first couple of years though, but you'd be amazed what a person can get accustomed to after more than a decade.

As I'm making my way through the Station, the only people I see are the usual blue-uniformed S.O.'s moving around with casual indifference. I nod passingly at a familiar face here and there, but don't stop to chit chat. Honestly, I'm not in the mood, I can pretty much guess what the topic's going to be – the mysterious newly arrived Commander and his minions in black armor.

A chill runs down my spine just knowing the United Systems Military is here.

I hug my arms closer, and pick up the pace - I'd really hate to run into one of them right now. _One experience was enough, thank you._ What exactly they're doing here is anyone's guess, but my gut is telling me it's nothing good and probably going to be worse than anyone can imagine.

And while Atilla the Space Hun had imprinted on my mind, I can't say with any accuracy what the rest of his minions look like, save for their uniforms, I barely took notice of them. What I did notice, makes my eyebrows dip in worry - full combat kit with pulse rifles. And unless they were expecting a riot (unlikely; they removed almost everyone from the Station) or a direct attack on The Last Oasis (again unlikely, because we're the last port for light-years, and people usually aren't that stupid to mess with a watering hole everyone needs – even the shady ones) what they need those guns for is beyond me. _And that, frankly, is fucking terrifying._

I let out a relieved breath along with some of my tension at making it unassailed to the maintenance elevator I'm taking down to the bottom end of the Station. _Like I said, not in the mood for a chat._ I lift my right wrist and swipe the ten-centimetre screen fitted there "O. Give me a nav point to the power surge."

"Calculating route." she responds in a calm sounding voice that has the same effect on me. "Nav point has been added to your facility map."

"Thank's O." I mumble distractedly while I pull it up in holo screen mode so I can make out the twists and turns easier. The Dead Dock used to be the Main Dock in the old days before the Station had been added on and upgraded. Now its mostly a junkyard for damaged, useless equipment, parts, and old storage.

The lift doors open and I'm struck momentarily dumb, like everyone is, at the sight of the scrap filled maze this once cavernous and empty space has become over the decades. Thank the Stars its at least somewhat neatly organized into stacked rows, otherwise, it would be completely impassable.

"Well, let's get this done." I say with brisk cheerfulness, moving forward into the organized chaos I faintly suspect Jonah had a hand in creating, and raise my arm higher to keep the map in view, and also to light my way. From my previous forays down here, I distinctly remember the lighting being spotty and flickering. No one much cares if the lights work optimally, since no one comes down here unless absolutely necessary, and usually just to add to the junk piles if they do. _Does lend the place a slasher vid vibe though._ I think, with a shiver.

Carefully picking my way through a few overturned storage containers, I can hear the drip-drip-drip of water coming from somewhere off to my left. My nose wrinkles, there's a noticeable musty, damp smell permeating the recycled air, but unless a pipe actually bursts over my head, and starts flooding this place, I'm game to ignore it and keep going.

It takes me about a half hours walk to get to the nav point, O. helpfully letting me know I've arrived with a slight vibration on my wrist, and I stop in front of what seems to be an old docking port. "Private Dock Nbr. 6" reads the lettering stencilled on the pressure doors for the umbilical that would have lead to a privately docked ship of a big wig visiting the Station in the olden days.

What makes me freeze and stare like a perplexed owl, however, is the green blinking light right next to the closed doors.

"What in the Galaxy?" I ask absolutely no one, bewildered "That can't be right." I swipe my wrist device "O. Refresh my memory. What does a blinking green light on the right touch panel, next to the pressure doors to Private Dock number six, mean?"

O. responds in seconds, while my eyes are hypnotized by an impossible green light going on and off. "For Private Dock number six, as well as the other Station docks, a blinking green light beside the pressure doors indicates a successful docking. For Private Dock's numbers six, four, one it also indicates the extension, lock, and pressurization of the embark-disembark umbilical."

"Oasis. Are you telling me there's an actual ship docked behind these doors?" I ask in high voiced amazement. _That can't be possible._ Not without authorization, and hardly without Jonah being alerted. _He definitely would have mentioned a docking instead of a power anomaly!_

"Yes, Mech Karys Hunter, I am."

I tear my eyes from the blinking light to look incredulously at my wrist.

While my O. is a bit more developed and personalised to my individual tastes, she still got her base code from the interconnected Station AI, which isn't programmed with a sense of humor, and pranks were definitely not a source code feature. _Or so I've always assumed_ _._ _Not a great time to learn new skills O._

I look around, thinking. "O. How long ago did the ship dock?" _Maybe it's a forgotten ship, a piece of old space junk that got jarred by debris, and that's what caused a surge._

"Docking completed at 03:36:57 - 25.10.2354 - Station Standard Time" O. says, blowing up my theory and my mind. _That was five hours ago!_

"Umm, okay then." I mutter weakly, again staring at the blinking light, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation that didn't involve my imagination threatening a spin into weird and wild territory. _Like some space deranged whackos sneaking aboard, and butchering us in our sleep._

 _Ugh, really Kay?!_ I berate myself silently. _I'm not seeing any reason in that thought!_

Wait. Of course! Seeing! I excitedly slap my thigh with my left hand "O! Show me the exterior view of Private Dock number six."

"Scanning... Missing sensor. PD6.1... Exterior feed not found."

"Scanning... Damaged sensor. PD6.2... Exterior feed corrupted."

"Scanning... Damaged sensor. PD6.3... Exterior feed not found."

Disappointed, I'm just about to tell O. 'never-mind' when she comes through.

"Scanning... Exterior vid sensor PD6.4 found – operational... Opening feed."

I hurriedly lift my sagging arm, attentively examining the holo screen, half excited and half sick at what I'm about to see.

And I see absolutely... nothing. There's no ship. Nada. The only thing I do see is a side view of the extended umbilical, harmlessly reached out into empty space with nothing on the end of it.

 _Guess there's my glitch, and hopefully, an easy fix._ I chuckle relieved, hearing it echo around me, a bit embarrassed by my tense shoulders "That's... that's good. Nothing there." My eyes roll at the absurd pinch of disappointment I'm feeling, but mostly, I'm just happy my hasty bout of paranoia was unfounded.

"O. What do I need to do, to retract the umbilical?" I ask, tucking my ponytail into the neck of my MechSuit, and unclipping my helmet from the utility belt at my waist. As I click it into place over my head, O automatically transfers her voice to the helmet and visuals to the Heads-Up-Display.

"I have highlighted the correct panel in your immediate vicinity. However, manual override and compression of the umbilical will not be successful unless it is uncoupled from the docked vessel."

Exasperated, I throw my hands up in a what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-you gesture. "O. There ****is no**** 'docked vessel'." I mimic the last bit in her logical, slightly robotic tone. And silently promise, _I'm giving you a thorough debugging when this is over._

After indulging in an eye roll O. can't see to appreciate, I turn my head looking for the correct panel to open, and find it highlighted in blue on my HUD - to the right and about two meters from the docking doors. Moving over to it, I make quick work of unclipping the nondescript cover from the wall, exposing some of the wiring, a red lever to manually open the doors, and an orange wheel meant to reel in the umbilical.

 _Stars know how long ago that's last been turned._ I think, and prepare to muscle my way to turn the damn thing.

Grabbing hold, I use all the strength I can muster (I'm not exactly puny), and all I get for my huffing and puffing is absolutely zip, not even a metal groan. "Oh geez, where's the Hulk when you need him." I wheeze, letting go to catch my breath.

I'm startled by O. in my ear. "Searching... Person with designation Hulk is not found onboard Wayland-Yutani Space Station 441."

I blink in confusion, and then practically double over laughing my ass off.

It takes me a minute before I can gasp through my mirth "O! You code challenged comedian!" more gasping and laughing "The Hulk is a fict...-" I cut myself off, snickering and shaking my head at the hilarity "You know what O. If you ever ****do**** find him, let me know!"

Her response just makes it harder to pull myself together, and sets me off again. "Confirmed. You will receive an alert when the person designated Hulk arrives on Wayland-Yutani Space Station 441."

The fading echo of my laughter and occasional chuckle brings me back to where I am, and what I'm supposed to be doing. _Back to work._ Blinking the moisture out of my eyes, I clear my throat "O. bring up the feed you found earlier of the exterior, please."

"Confirmed. Opening feed to HUD view."

I analyze the footage a second time, _and guess what? Still no ship_ _._ But there has to be something I'm not seeing from this angle, something not letting the umbilical retract. O. made it clear the umbilical needed to to be uncoupled from the imaginary docked ship. Since there was no 'docked vessel', that left a possible physical object stuck in one of the four e-magnetized pressure clamps at the end of the umbilical.

They're sensitive and designed to tightly clamp onto a ships hull over the doors, and not even power failure would disengage them, a safety feature to keep air pressure inside the five-meter hallway until both the ship and station released them simultaneously.

Seems possible a piece of metal debris could have gotten lodged on one of them (there are literally megatonnes of trash floating in space), thus fooling the clamp sensor into reading a docked ship.

"Well, that's it then. Guess I'm going for a walk." I mutter, resigned. "End footage O." I tell her distractedly as I'm groping for the tether clip on my belt. I pull on it, feeling the cord unwind slightly, and locate the tether lock on the edge of the docking doors.

After double-checking I secured myself properly (I have no wish to float my ass into infinity), I return to the opened maintenance panel, flatten myself to the wall, magnetize my boots, place my hand on the lever that will open the docking doors, and brace for forceful decompression - anything unsecured properly is going to violently jet pass me out the doors first.

Jerking the lever from Closed to Open, I close my eyes tightly, tense as all hell, as I hear the grinding of metal, expecting the brutal whoosh of sudden decompression.

There's... not even a breeze.

My eyes pop open, and I hesitantly lean forward to make sure the doors actually opened. I'd hate to have to go hunting for a pry bar.

And...yep, they're wide open!

I gape! "What the fuck? How-!" before I know it, I'm standing on the threshold of the extended umbilical hallway, staring at the black of space at the end of it, and desperately trying to make sense of what I'm seeing, and impossibly, not feeling (like fucking weightlessness!).

 _What-? How-? But-!_ My brain stutters.

I turn wildly left and right. A part of me is sure this is some epic prank, and one of the dockers is going to jump out of a storage crate and yell 'gotcha!' - jackass probably recording every moment of me losing my shit. _Aaany second now...!_

The other part of me... moves my normal! weighted feet down the hallway.

From the edge of my vision, I can make out my gloved hand brushing the wall. It feels solid. I'm wholly focused on the end of the hallway getting closer and closer. "I must be dreaming." _Did a big ass crate flatten my head at decompression and I died? Because this can't be real!_

"Or dead. I must be dead." _I can hear myself. Can the dead hear themselves?! Wait, does ghost me have a voice in its head, too?!_ In a weirdly amused calm I'm-dead-so-this-isn't-real way, I vaguely think I'm panicking.

I'm a footstep away from space. Actual. Fucking. Space. And the laws of physics are gone. Dead and buried.

Or I'm dead, I'm still not sure.

I dazedly notice a hand that looks suspiciously like mine lifting in front of me. _What are you gonna do? Touch it?_ I ask myself sarcastically. _Its fucking space! I can't touch-_ "Oh shit!" _I fucking touched_ _something!_

There's a whoosh, and I damn near swallow my tongue. The space view is gone.

Suddenly, I'm staring into the interior of a space ship. "Ho-ly shit."


	4. Chapter 4

Edwina Perez, or Eddy, as she'd prefer to be called, wasn't usually the eavesdropping sort. 'Privacy is sacred' - as a medical professional she'd had that maxim drilled into her in her first year of nursing school. So, it was with a twinge of conscience that she listened to the conversation going on just a few paces from where she was absolutely ****not**** hiding. She'd just needed to step into the storage room to restock a few things, and it wasn't her fault the people having the discussion thought the MedPod suite was empty.

"Ah, here you are, Doctor!"

A voice she recognized as belonging to John Farramoor, the Station Boss, cheerfully greeted who had to be Dr Blake – asshole, and the only Doctor (she couldn't help but snort quietly at the title) onboard The Last Oasis. She hadn't even noticed he'd returned from where ever he'd disappeared to.

"I brought the new Station Head to see you since you'll be working together on this project." There was a small pause. "Commander Scott, I'd like you to meet Doctor Nicholas Blake, Head Medic for this station, and the lead researcher for this mysterious new venture no one's talking about." There was definite irritation in the Station Boss's voice.

Eddy could hear a rustle, the men probably shaking hands.

Then a voice she didn't recognize but had to belong to the new Commander. "Doctor." He sounded stiff but polite. She imagined that wouldn't last long, Blake had a way of rubbing people wrong, the arrogant ass.

"Commander." Said ass replied.

Commander Scott's voice clipped "Farramoor. That will be all." there was a beat of silence, then pointedly "I believe you have a shuttle to catch."

"Right."

Tension, and a lot of it. Eddy imagined the Station Boss didn't like being thrown off his own station and was surprised he didn't lay into Commander Scott. Farramoor wasn't known to be careful with his words when irked, though he'd always been objective and fair.

There was the faint sound of footsteps, and the double mechanical whirr of the MedPod suite doors opening and closing. She correctly assumed it announced the departure of the now ex-Station Boss.

This mysterious 'new project' had to be the reason why so many people have been shuttled off station with no explanation. Just a vague; pack your shit and leave, you have a new job. And as far as Eddy could tell, the only people left were those critically necessary to keep this place afloat. It was disquieting and damned suspicious.

Blake's unusually eager voice startled her back to paying attention.

"I've been waiting for this for ****years**** , Scott! The Division's last trial was a failure, and I intend to pick up the slack. Have the specimens been contained properly? The last thing we need is another damned Sevastopol happening here."

Scott's voice turned icy. "I've checked them personally. They're secure." He paused to emphasize the lack of proper deference. " ** **Blake**** **.** "

An awkward throat-clearing came from the Doctor. "Hm, Yes. Of course. You have a stellar reputation for getting things done, Commander."

Apparently, Dr Blake got the message, and Eddy could almost go out there and high-five Commander Scott for not putting up with his shit.

"And the asset? Is it ready for the procedure?"

" ** **He**** 'll be ready soon, Doctor. My unit just pulled him out of stasis."

Eddy didn't know what to make of that tone, it wasn't exactly chiding, but it was something. A hint of subtle warning, maybe? Blake didn't seem to hear it.

"Excellent! Then we'll proceed as planned. It shouldn't take long for a visible result. The previous experiment on a similar, though inferior specimen was quite promising according to the data I've reviewed from Motinea." Blake's voice turned a bit fainter as he moved away, but no less excited "Their progress in sequencing the species DNA was a particular breakthrough! The things we can do with it! Just to be able to study it, and the possible future applications-!"

The Commander seemed to lose patience, interrupting "That's your area, Doctor. Mine is containment, transportation and security. And I'd like to get to it."

Eddy grinned, she could practically see Blake falter in surprise, he wasn't used to being casually dismissed when on a roll. She could almost like this guy, if not for the disturbing things she was hearing.

"Oh. Yes, yes." Blake rallied fast. "Then, by all means! Let's get to it."

Hearing them leave, Eddy risked a peek into the suite, curious at what the Commander looked like, she'd heard a rumor that the man was easy on the eyes. She wasn't disappointed, catching him in profile as he turned away. Without a shred of difficulty, she could admit the man was hot. Too bad he was shady as hell.

The doors whirred open and Blake walked through first, yammering something about time tables and someone expecting something, Eddy couldn't tell, because the second Commander Scott stepped over the threshold, he turned his head and looked directly at where she stood mostly hidden by the storage room wall.

Cold green eyes met hers just as the doors closed.

Eddy ducked back out of sight, her heart hammering, body frozen in fear and not breathing - expecting the doors to spring open, the Commander storming back into the suite demanding an explanation, or worse.

She didn't know how long she stood there motionless, and almost had a heart attack when they did open.

"Doc? You in here? Nurse Eddy?"

She let out a gusty breath of relief at hearing the familiar voice. Straightening, Eddy ran a shaky hand over her forehead and through her bangs, pushing the hair out of her eyes. Pulling herself together and plastering a welcoming smile on her face, she moved casually out of the storage room.

"Big Bob!" She greeted with only a small strain to her normally cheery patient-voice.

Thankfully, he didn't notice. He was busy looking around for Blake. "Doc ain't here?" He asked with reserved hope, and she smiled, shaking her head no. Eddy understood the hopefulness, Blake was an ass, with a horrible bedside manner, and even worse patient communication skills.

"He stepped out a moment ago, so you're safe, Bobby." She teased the huge burly docker, and asked "What are you doing here? Cut bothering you?" She eyed his bandaged left hand. "I thought the second dose of antibiotics and anti-inflammatories would do the trick."

"Never got the second dose you sent from Kay." he informed her "Jonah has her doing an urgent repair down below." He raised his injured hand and waved. "If I didn't need the hand to work, I wouldn't be bothering you. But as it is, we're stretched thin in Mechs and Maintenance and I need to get back on the rotation as soon as possible."

"Got it." Eddy winked, turning to get the doses and a hypo-injector, instructing "After this one, come back for one more, and you'll be set."

She took his giant hand, gently removed the wrapping and examined the wound closely, nodding "Looks much better."

Big Bob opened his mouth, but she interrupted whatever macho thing was about to come out, insisting "A couple more days of rest won't hurt you, or the station. After that, you're all clear to get back to work."

He sighed, reluctantly relenting "You're the Boss."

"You got that right." Eddy agreed with a laugh. She re-wrapped the cut and took up the injector. "This won't hurt a bit."

Big Bob gulped and tipped back his head to stare at the ceiling, muttering "You always say that, but shit still stings like a bitch."

"Don't whine, it's unattractive." Eddy rolled her eyes, teasing as she applied the injector to his deltoid muscle "It's noting a tough guy like you can't handle, Big Bob."

He flinched at the small hiss and it was done, only a red pinprick to mark the site. "See, nothing to it." She patted his arm reassuringly.

He relaxed, smiling down on her "Thanks Doc."

Eddy winced "I appreciate the compliment, but don't let Blake hear you say that. I don't think his ego could handle it." And he wouldn't take it out on the docker, he'd take it out on her. She'd rather avoid a long-winded verbal lashing, thank you.

Now it was Big Bob that rolled his eyes "Don't give a shit. Far as most of us are concerned, you're the Doc here. He's just a careless prick."

Eddy couldn't argue with that, so she didn't.

As soon as he left and she was left alone, Eddy mulled over what she'd heard earlier.

_What was the project they were referring to? What was Blake involved in?_

She hadn't heard anything about it before this, not even whispers! And it was almost impossible to keep secrets on a space station.

 _Also, specimens? What kind of specimens? From where?_ They sounded dangerous, notably because it was the imposing Commander's job to keep them 'securely contained'.

Something told her they, whoever the blazes ****they**** were, wouldn't bother engaging a Black Shell Unit for a shipment of lab rats.

And most importantly, not to mention incredibly disturbing - _who or what was 'the asset'?_ Moreover, _what the hell were they planning to do with/to him?_

She had more questions than answers, and Eddy didn't like not knowing things, especially if it put people at risk – her people.

She needed to talk to Kay and Liv, they had access to persons and places she didn't usually visit. Hopefully, together they could get to the bottom of this thing - before something horrible happened.


	5. Chapter 5

Of all the innumerable places in the known Galaxies, he'd had to dock to a stagnated Ooman floating fortress - Space Station, they called it, if he remembered correctly - in Ooman infested space.

The Gods must be laughing at him, Vor'mekta Thei-de thought with a certain mild irritation, the brunt of it directed at the scrap he'd once proudly called a ship – his ship.

The only reason he'd made it to this empty dock at all was a fortunate, if he were inclined to look at it that way, malfunction of the fuel cell indicator. It the time he'd managed to get some of the systems functioning again, it had read depleted, and Vor'mekta Thei-de had been certain he would become another cosmic body, infinitely floating through space. And if Yautja believed in luck, he'd have no choice but to call himself fortunate that he'd avoided such a depressing fate.

They did not. ****Everything**** had malfunctioned in a full cascade, therefore it was no wonder the fuel indicator had followed the pattern. Luck had nothing to do with it.

The first thing Vor'mekta Thei-de had done upon docking was a quick, temporary fix to the hull breach, so he could safely work in the engine room and be able to restore homeostasis functions to his ship. The second had been to confirm that the fuel cell indicator had indeed failed, and was satisfied to discover that the physical cell-housing read twenty-one percent power. It wasn't much, but it would do for the needed repairs.

Where he'd find the extra fuel cell or two required to get off this c'jit Ooman construct and on to Clan held territory, Vor'mekta Thei-de had no idea. He would have to deal with that problem later. Perhaps he could rig up something to siphon energy from the Station? He briefly toyed with the concept, but ultimately discarded it as useless.

He wasn't a pauk-de engineer, and Ooman technological capabilities were not the same as Yautja.

Like most of his space-faring kind, Vor'mekta Thei-de had some basic knowledge of how to solve onboard issues, but any severe damage to a vessel was usually left to those who knew how, and had experience enough, to deal with it. Unfortunately for him, in this instance, those closest could be found light-spans away, on Clan Ship repair docks. Pauk.

It was incredibly rare for a vessel to get seriously damaged. Yautja had been space-bound for so long as to have designed almost flawless systems. He growled. 'Almost' being the irritating word here. Usually, if a ship got damaged critically, it was due to enemy combat onboard, an unavoidable crash landing, or the last resort; self-destruction. A Pauk-de hull breach with all it entailed because of a temporary sensor failure? Didn't even make the list.

The sound of a liquid drop hitting metal plating brought him out of his glowering thoughts, and reminded Vor'mekta Thei-de, he still had a third issue to deal with; the seeping wound in his side. He had cleaned and closed it when he'd had a moment between restoring his systems. However, there seemed to be some form of infection setting in, which was a curious and wholly unwelcome development. Yautja were notoriously unlikely to succumb to such things, their immune systems were incredibly efficient.

Vor'mekta Thei-de looked down at his side and probed the wound with a claw, noting its heat and tenderness. It wasn't large or all that deep; perhaps a hand-span in length, and finger-width in depth. But it did seem inflamed, and a corner had separated, oozing blood faintly mixed with puss.

He shook his head out with a huff of muffled annoyance, long spines loudly slapping his shoulders and back. It seemed he would be forced to funnel power he couldn't afford to the med bay in order to synthesize a treatment. Pauk.

Contemplating his situation, he wondered distractedly if he'd need to update the information on the Insectoids to include possible pathogens in their pincers, perhaps even venom. Though, when he gave it a bit more consideration, bacteria made more sense; the creatures were primarily scavengers after all.

A muffled sound from above had Vor'mekta Thei-de instantly on alert, muscles tensing, and wound forgotten. Cloaking, he stealthily made his way up to the main level, asking himself with a touch of fresh annoyance, what foolish creature would dare enter his ship?

Emerging silently from the opening to the lower deck, he paused, senses sharp. A shuffling tread came from the control room, followed by a hesitant, high pitched voice.

"H-hello?" It called out. "Is anyone here?"

His wrist comp translated the Ooman speech to his biomask. Female by the sound of it. Vor'mekta Thei-de wasn't in the least surprised an Ooman would be stupid enough to go where it wasn't welcome, considering the place he'd docked to, but a female was a tad unexpected. Not that it mattered much either way, male or female, it was still an intruder.

His tusks click-tapped quietly. He'd heard the Ooman species was reckless like that, ignoring sense and instinct, to assuage impulse and curiosity. Vor'mekta Thei-de shook his head and soundlessly entered the open control room, positioning himself so he blocked the only route of egress for the interloping Ooman.

Tilting his head, he examined her in profile through various biomask filters, searching out weapons and weaknesses as she, fully covered by a spacesuit and belted tool harness, slowly, carefully, moved to his command chair, her helmeted head-turning constantly, looking at everything as if she'd never seen the inside of a ship's control center. And for all he knew, she hadn't.

Small bodied compared to Yautja, weak, with no natural defences - scaleless, clawless, spineless - Oomans were thought to be inferior in almost every way. And especially as a female, the Ooman was laughable. In his galaxy, females were often larger, stronger, fierce in temper and deadly if provoked. Not this pyode amedha, this soft meat. Vor'mekta Thei-de reflected, a bit disgusted, as he watched her bump the edge of a console and massage the area on her hip as if injured.

The Ooman suddenly went motionless, her whole body tightening, her helm turning by slow increments in his direction.

He noted her audible breathing had stopped, she was just waiting, like frozen prey.

Interesting, Vor'mekta Thei-de speculated, could she sense his presence? He couldn't see her face to gauge her expression, but her body language spoke volumes to him. Mainly fear mixed with caution, and perhaps some lingering curiosity, the way her head still tilted minutely this way and that.

She spoke hesitantly, "Is...is someone there?"

He didn't answer, didn't move. Simply watched as she raised the hand she'd used to touch his seat in front of her helm, the first three fingers moving slightly, rubbing together.

"What is this?" she asked faintly, examining his blood residue on her clawless fingertips.

As she did so, Vor'mekta Thei-de considered his options.

His first one was to kill her. However, unless she armed herself with a weapon powerful enough to take him down, and his scans indicated she had none, he'd be doing an honorless act. A near-silent chuff of derision escaped him. A poor reason indeed, to turn Badblood because of a feeble, impertinent Ooman.

Second, he could stand aside and let her leave, oblivious to his presence. But that would leave his ship, and potentially himself, compromised in enemy territory. Oomans were not known for their discretion. His ship would be swarming with them in a matter of yits, and he'd be forced to kill them all, quite possibly obliterating the whole pauking station. He was tempted.

Third, and looking like his only viable choice, he would have to capture the Ooman, thus eliminating the threat she posed, with the added benefit of possibly extracting valuable information. If she had any. And if anyone came looking for her...well then, the last part of option two could become a necessary priority - his technology could not fall into Ooman hands.

Decided, Vor'mekta Thei-de dropped his cloak, flung his arms wide, and roared.

⸪ ⸪ ⸪ ⸪ ⸪ ⸪ ⸪ ⸪ ⸪ ⸪ ⸪ ⸪ ⸪ ⸪ ⸪ ⸪

 _Sweet Super Novas in Space!_ One moment I'm alone, examining some weird, faintly glowing green goo on my fingers in an honest-to-stars Alien Space Ship (humans have nothing like this baby!) and the next, I'm staring, stupefied, at a huge, roaring, pissed-off lizardman in patches of ye olde armor of all things!

My paralysis lasts only long enough to register what I'm seeing (and hearing!), and for me to let out a bloodcurdling scream of pure shocked terror. I throw myself bodily over the side of the chair I was standing next to a second ago, scrambling to get something between me and Alien Godzilla.

 _He better not breathe fire!_ Is my panic infused thought, as I crouch in front of the chair, the ships main console at my back, and my whole focus locked on the monster on the other side of the seat. My heart is thudding so loud, I think we can both hear it, and I'm panting like a heat stroke victim that just ran a sprint in the Martian deserts. I hesitantly stick my head out and notice the lizardman move forward.

I jerk back, stiff as hardened steel. "Ohshit, ohshit, ohshit" Is my mantra as I hold the armrests in a death grip, trying to figure out which way he was going to choose to get to me. _Left or right?_

I don't hear anything, so I briefly pop my head up, just enough to see over the top, and that's all I need. The monster's moving to my left, and I hesitate only long enough for him to circumnavigate to my side. I'm shaking like a leaf in a storm. When I feel he's as close as my nerves can bear, I explode into motion, using the right side of the chair as a starting-block to propel myself out of the room with as much momentum as physically possible.

My boots pound the metal floor in an echo as I sprint down the ships main hallway, eyes frantically searching for the docking doorway I came through earlier, suddenly startled enough to stumble as O., out of the blue, starts a medical lecture in my helmet.

"Karys Hunter. My wrist control sensors indicate a rapid heart rate of more than one hundred and fifty beats per minute. Elevated blood pressure with systolic and diastolic numbers reaching above one hundred seve-"

"NOT. NOW. O!" I interrupt with a panicked scream, chest heaving with exertion. I don't have the capacity to talk. _I'm a bit busy, running for my life!_

A faint white glow from the umbilicals light is my target, _There! Left!_ and when I reach the turn at full speed, I barely make the tight corner. For a heartbeat, I crash into the opposite wall, letting out a winded grunt, shaking the whole damn structure. But I don't give enough of a shit to slow down. Mainly, because I can hear footsteps, like thunder clapping, right behind me! _Fuck_ _,_ _it's fast!_

Just as I burst through the docking doors at a tear for the narrow maze of stacked junk, I can feel the faint tug of the tether cord unwinding from my belt.

 _Shit! The tether!_ _M_ y mind screams in a fresh burst of panic. I was so careful with it on the ship, didn't want to get it tangled on, or around anything. It had completely slipped my mind though when Godzilla showed up. Stupid thing is even automatically self-retracting, it's why it didn't get tangled in my feet as I ran. Sheer dumb-luck it didn't get looped around that damn chair, either!

Panting heavily, still running for my life, I grope for the heavy wire cutters on my tool-belt, praying to every Star in the Galaxy, they're strong enough to cut through the line. When I get free, I can lose my pursuer in the corridors of storage!

Hurriedly pulling them out, I slow to a fast jog, raise the tether line with one hand, and use the other to cut it. Right as I'm clamping down, I let out a startled, choked "-oomph!" as I'm suddenly, painfully, stopped dead in my tracks by my harness belt, the air snatched out of me, the tether line disappearing painfully from my grip.

Shaking my sore hand out, while trying to take a steadying breath to get my bearings, I choke-scream in horror instead "Wh-aaAH!" My body is mercilessly wrenched back and I'm abruptly airborne. It's an excruciatingly short maiden voyage. I land flat on my back with an agonized slam.

Laying there stunned, I think I even bounced once (or twice), or at least my throbbing head feels like it did. "Fucking oww." I mouth, dizzy and breathless from the impact. Gasping lungfuls of air, I stare with swimming disbelief at the dark ceiling. _Son of a bitch yanked me like a misbehaving dog on a leash!_

An eerie, hair-raising clicking noise reaches my ears.

Slowly tilting my head back, I'm not much surprised to see the lizardman standing there, with the length of my tether cord wrapped around his giant fist.

"Uhh, hi?" I gasp out, thinking I might as well be polite - can't be worse than our 'first contact' - it scaring the piss out of me, and me screaming like a deranged banshee.

Lizardman tips his head to the side and something moves with it.

 _Wires? Tubing? Cables?_ I'm not sure, my eyes are a bit unfocused at the moment. All I see is an incredibly large, blackish smudge with green tinting.

As I try to blink my vision clear, the creature-blur takes two large steps I feel as vibration underneath me more than I see or hear them, grabs me by the helmet - _that's one giant hand!_ \- and hauls me upright.

I wobble for a moment, stupidly thinking it's going to give me a pat on the head and let me go when instead, I'm whirled around in a full spin. _As if I'm not loopy enough already!_ My stomach lurches queasily in protest.

It takes me a second to notice, but when my, quite possibly concussed, brain catches up, I realize the lizardman had trussed me up with my own tether!

"Hey!" I yell, struggling to break free. "What the hell!?" My arms are pinned to my body, the cord wound tight around my torso from wrists to shoulders.

The monster just stands there, seemingly bored, holding the end of my rope, while I thrash like a hooked fish. I howl wordlessly in fear-fueled anger "Arrrgh!" and jolt my full weight back.

Unexpectedly, it lets go. There's a wide-eyed moment I get to think _Oh shit!_ and then I smack the damn floor on my back in another full-body slap. _Son of a bitch! That hurts!_ I yell in my head, as I roll to my side, and curl into myself like a dying spider. The pain is otherworldly in its radiating sharpness. _Fuck._

I decide not to keep that thought to myself, yelling weakly "Ow! You fucking bastard. That hurt like a bitch!" _Oh, ow._ Even yelling that hurt. _I'm going to be a giant bruise tomorrow._ I don't dare think 'if I make it to tomorrow', because if I do, I just might start bawling and never stop.

A deep, rhythmic, clicking trill-like sound reaches me from above.

Not sure I can explain why... gut feeling maybe? But I have a dark suspicion it just might be a chuckle. Or even laughter. Tense from pain, I grit my teeth and tilt my head to glare hatefully at my personal nightmare incarnate. And even if it can't see my hostility through my tinted helmet plate, I give it all the angry heat I have. **_**I**_** _am_ ** _ **not**_** _amused,_ _ **asshole**_ _._

There's a moment of silence, followed by ominous clicking. The huge creature bends down, reaching for me.

"No!" I cry out fearfully, cringing back, kicking my legs to zero effect, my previous burst of attitude quickly wiped away. _Guess I'm all bark and no bite._ And before I can muster enough effort to partially worm my sore ass out of its range, it seizes my arms in a tight, strong grip, effortlessly lifting me into the air. I'm not too proud to say I whimper. It kind of goes well with my knotted insides.

Eyes tightly shut, I just hope to Jupiter the lizardman doesn't shake me; like a kid shakes a box to see if anything rattles inside, or worse; crushes it, when it finds its empty. Because with its powerful grip, I can't help but imagine crushing me like a soda can would be effortless. Or popping my head off like a bottle cap and drinking my blood. _Oh, Stars, what the hell is wrong with me?! I don't need an image of that in my head!_

Seconds pass and the wait is excruciating (mostly because I'm freaking myself the fuck out, imagining grisly dismembering scenarios, and worse). So much so, I dare to only open first one eye, and then instantly the other.

I stare. And unnervingly enough, I have a strange feeling it's staring right back. _This close it can probably see through the tinted glass of my faceplate_ _._ I muse, engrossed into what I'm looking at.

My mouth drops. I...I don't know what I was expecting it to look like, but seeing a metal face mask (sort of - but not, like my helmet) was not it. Thinking back, I realize I barely glimpsed its face. I paid more attention to the creature as a whole, and mainly, its aggressive demeanor; what with the I'm-gonna-disembowel-you pose and run-or-die dragon roar. It was pretty much physically impossible for me to stand there and pay attention!

But now I do, equal parts petrified and amazed.

Where the nose, mouth and chin would be on a human face, the mask has a raised, slightly narrow and flat vertical plane. However, the eyebrow and cheekbone area to either side of that protrude sharply. My eyes follow the concave curve from just below its 'cheekbones' down to where the metal flares out a bit again at the jawline. And I also notice the metal seems a bit worn, with quite a few scratches, gauges and chips; like the lizardman has had it for ages, even might have used it to headbutt a landmine or something equally as destructive (considering the damage, not to mention the size of the thing wearing it!).

And lizard ** **man**** , or rather male, is right, I correct myself, while I quickly and discretely move my eyes down the rest of him.

He has to be at least two and a half meters tall, if not more, with a whole lot of mass to back it up. And all that mass looks to be mostly muscle. I gulp, intimidated. While I'm no slouch at one-meter seventy-eight, and 75 kilos, I'm feeling downright fragile compared to him. Which is entirely new for me.

Moving my gaze up again, I can't help but shudder. The masks slanted, mesh-glass eyeshields seem downright menacing. Hell, the whole thing has a look to it of threat and danger. But what really has me riveted, and a bit baffled to be completely honest, is the large sloping dome-like forehead, with a row of spikes on either side of it.

It. Is. Huge. And I can't help but wonder _What the hell are you hiding under there?_ Then immediately, warily, _Better not be tentacles._ Eyeing his weird hair tube things guardedly for any individual movement, I snort self-deprecatingly after a few moments _Not like I can do anything about it if they do!_

Trapped and suspended as I am in his firm hold, it's starting to sink in, that this is an actual swear-to-Jupiter alien, and I'm face to...err, mask with it...err, him. If my hands were free, I could reach out and touch him, a non-human being, from stars-only-know where.

I can't help but ask curiously, puzzled "What are you?" Not really expecting an answer.

Surprisingly, the creature angles his head to the side, as if considering my question, clicking again. And I subconsciously turn my head too, mimicking the gesture, trying to figure what that sound could possibly mean. _Language? Vocalization of curiosity?_ A stray thought has me audibly swallowing. _I really hope he's not hungry!_

Lizardman literally growls, flexing his fingers on my arms, and I feel ten very sharp points digging in. _Are those claws?!_ I instinctively tuck into myself, trying to avoid them. _Dude's a tank! He doesn't need finger knives!_ Not that my shifting does much good, his grip is like iron bands. With spikes!

"I am Yautja. Ooman."

Stunned right out of my discomfort, I goggle at him, blurting "Wait... What?" His words are rough, growled, and slightly distorted, but ultimately discernible. 'Ooman' so close to 'human' meant me, therefore logic dictated, Yautja meant him. Also, by the same token, it wasn't a name, but his species. "Whoa."

Mind blown, I stutter out, inanely "Y-you can talk?" _Oh, bravo!_ Inner me points out sarcastically. _What else are you gonna ask that's obvious? Can he walk? Breathe? Hear? Idiot._

The lizardman, or Yautja, doesn't answer, just lets out another growl. This one sounds, I don't know... impatient? Angry? Frustrated? I open my mouth to ask, and nearly bite my tongue off, because he abruptly drops me and it's a damn miracle I don't go down on my ass, the move so unexpected. I manage to keep my footing. Barely.

I'm about to start cussing like the docker that I am when he whirls on his heel, and his (I don't know what those are? Hair extensions? Snakes?) almost slap me in the face. "Hey!" I yelp and duck. "What the fuck was that for?!" Okay, I may have posed a dumb question, but I hardly think it merits such a response! _Excuse the shit out of me! I've never met an alien before!_

His only retort is a savage pull on the end of the tether cord binding me. With no choice, I stumble forward, it's either that or be dragged on the floor on my ass. Planting my feet, I tug the line, demanding "Let!" tug "Me!" tug "Go!" But all this does is make me awkwardly hop when he heedlessly ignores me and keeps going.

"Aaargh!" I let out a frustrated scream, half pissed and half terrified. Where is he taking me? And why? I jerk the lead again "Damn it! Stop!" I ****really**** do not want to go anywhere with him. As far as I know, he could be taking me for lunch (me being the one cooked!), or a zoo exhibit, or a flesh market, or just kill me somewhere! (Why he couldn't do it here, I have no clue, but I'm not stupid enough to ask, or give him any ideas either!)

 _Fuck that!_ I think mutinously, while dread pools in my stomach. I nervously notice we're getting closer to the docking doors. And his ship. _Shit, woman! Do something!_ I panic silently. _Okay! Fine! Stop screaming at me!_ I argue with myself while looking around wildly. _Any suggestions, smartass?_

 _Just one._ _Looking around, g_ etting an idea, I prime myself to do it. There's a tiny bit of slack at my wrists and if I work fast, I can hopefully wriggle one out. Then maybe, I can topple one of these storage stacks on top of him? It's a big 'if' but it's worth a try _._

I keep deliberately dragging my feet, my body leaned so far back I'm sure going to regret it if he drops me again. Twisting and jerking, I probably resemble an insane person in a straight jacket. Not that I give a shit. And apparently neither does the lizardman because, from a certain point of view, he looks like a careless pet owner walking a deranged dog.

Clenching my jaw at the chafing pain digging into my wrist, I ignore it, concentrating on getting my hand free while eyeing the nearest stack of storage crates. It's almost four meters high, and I hope to the Stars, it's heavy enough. _Come on, comeoncomeon! Just...one more...turn, and...YES! Got it!_ My right hand free up to my elbow, I almost whoop out loud from glee, but thankfully catch myself.

Bolting forward at my captor, I let loose a wordless war cry and attack, while deep down I'm realizing with horror; _He's gonna squish me like a bug._

And almost instantly, the Yautja aggressively spins to face me with a terrifying roar of his own, like he was expecting me to pull something, and just waiting for me to make a move.

The threat in that booming sound is almost enough to make me instinctively freeze. I don't dare. Running at him, I see he crouches into a battle stance, knees bent and arms up at his sides, like I'm going to throw myself at him and he'll catch me in a crushing hug. Crush being the main word here.

My movement slackens the line of tether suspended between us, and I take full advantage, dodging to the side and around the stack I was focused on before. I do it quick as I can because, I just know, he's going to either yank me back or come after me, and I'm not sure which is going to be worse.

Slamming my sore back into the storage crates, I slam my freed hand into the strap release holding the crates together. I quickly jump up and plant my feet on the opposite ones, and push with everything I've got, "AAARGH!-" screaming from the effort and adrenaline-fueled fear. Maybe I'm hallucinating, but I think I can hear him growl-roaring with me.

"HH-eeek!-" My yell-turned-squeal cuts short as the crates topple, and I fall with them.

Landing painfully, I'm sprawled awkwardly over a container or two. The last thing my widening eyes see is the edge of another black storage box falling at my head. _Shit._


	6. Chapter 6

Clever female. Vor'mekta Thei-de thought with a touch of grudging admiration. For an Ooman.

Mostly he was annoyed at himself that the female had managed to surprise him. Her little stunt had worked, too. While he'd been ready for a direct assault, maybe even a ridiculously unequal bout of Jehdin-Jehdin, the Yautja version of hand to hand combat, he hadn't expected her to deflect at the last possible moment and use their environment, the stacked containers, to her advantage.

Vor'mekta Thei-de snarled angrily. It was appallingly short-sighted of him. Apparently the Ooman's fragility and small stature were deceptive, hiding a crafty mind.

He pushed the large, heavy black container off his chest with an irritable hiss, the wound in his side wet and throbbing to his heartbeat. Lesson learned. He'd be more aware of her in the future. Picking himself up, Vor'mekta Thei-de focused his sharp hearing, looking around to gauge in which direction the female had fled in order to chase her down before she could manage to fully escape him. Turning minutely, he noted from the corner of his eye a part of a body sprawled among the fallen debris. A small leg and lower arm dangled awkwardly over a storage container.

Moving toward the prone figure, his head tilted curiously, long head spines sliding over one shoulder. The metal clamped there clicked together softly, the only noise in the cavernous room. Scenting blood, he briefly wondered if she was dead, she wasn't moving at all. He slowed to be more cautious, head tilting the other way. It could be another trick.

It wasn't. Her chest still moved slightly, rhythmically. However, the female seemed to be unconscious. Upon reaching her, Vor'mekta Thei-de stopped, and crouched at her side, noting the broken faceplate of her helm.

Picking up a curved and tinted glass shard, he examined it, clicking "It would appear I am not the only casualty of your foolish escape plan." Dropping the glass to use his hand for balance, he leaned over, his biomask directly over hers. A few of his spines roller over his shoulders, grazing her own.

He growled dangerously. No reaction.

From the opening made by the missing shard in her faceplate, Vor'mekta Thei-de could make out part of her fleshy Ooman face, along with the slow discolouration and swelling that was begging to form under her closed left eye. If not for the, he snorted with disdain, barely adequate protection of the helm, he was certain, she'd be dead.

Vor'mekta Thei-de shook his head in distaste. So pauking fragile. An injury like that would have merely momentarily dazed a Yautja.

He reared back on his heels with a surprised chuff as a feminine voice suddenly issued out of the females' helm. It sounded different from the Ooman. More measured, almost artificial.

"Karys Hunter. I am reading a force breach to your Mech suit. Your helm unit is compromised. Do you require assistance?"

The translation to his biomask instantaneous, Vor'mekta Thei-de was sure 'requiring assistance' meant a distress call to anyone monitoring the station. He didn't need more infernal Oomans crawling around, distracting him from repairing his ship. That was a complication best avoided. For now.

The computerized voice returned. "Karys Hunter. I repeat. Do you require assistance?

Raising his left arm, Vor'mekta Thei-de quickly typed in a sequence on his wrist comp. All hunting Yautja had a feature on their mobile comps to record their prey. Usually their victims' voices or other sounds were used as a lure, deterrent, or to herd them into a particular direction. It was an incredibly useful hunting tool. This time he'd use it in a different manner. The Ooman hadn't spoken much, but what she had, had stored automatically to his wrist device.

He played the sound bytes, the unconscious Ooman female's voice coming out loud and clear. "Stop! NOT! NOW!"

"Acknowledged."

That done, Vor'mekta Thei-de settled in his crouch, arms on his knees, clawed hands relaxed, and observed the senseless female. And silently pondered his next step. The artificial intelligence in her covering posed a slight problem, as it seemed to be monitoring her vital signs. Death would mean an instant alert, bringing with it more pauking Oomans. C'jit.

Standing abruptly, he aggressively growled, head spines lifting, and extended his dah'kte, the dual wristblades almost all hunters wore. They glinted deadly sharp in the faint flickering light. Through a filter in his biomask, Vor'mekta Thei-de carefully pinpointed the location of her still-beating heart. If he were to kill her now, this would be a perfect opportunity. For those who would come searching, would find she'd died in what looked like an unfortunate accident. With a careless glance to the side, he even spotted a piece of broken storage casing he could impale in her chest to disguise the wound. He raised his arm.

But then, for some strange reason, he recalled Dhi'rauta Dhi'ki-de, his last training N'yaka-de on his journey to become an Elite. Though when they'd met, Vor'mekta Thei-de hadn't been his neophyte and Dhi'rauta Dhi'ki-de not yet his Master.

Almost fifty cycles ago, Vor'mekta Thei-de had been young, stupid and so full of himself after successfully completing his Chiva he'd thought himself invincible, if not almost god-like. He'd returned to the Clan Ship the sole survivor of three; physically beaten, bleeding from numerous scrapes, cuts and gauges, a few broken bones, and an echoing roar of victory ringing in his tympanums. And on his back, he'd proudly carried the skull of a Kiande Amedha Queen.

It was a glorious moment for a newly Blooded Warrior. A victory seldom seen.

Predictably, as with many others -he presently noted with a certain level of amused wisdom- it had gone to his head and his ego.

Vor'mekta Thei-de remembered he'd strutted around the Clan Ship for diurnals, his triumph all he could talk about to anyone who would pay even the slightest attention. Utterly oblivious to the fact that the tolerance of his vanity wasn't going to last forever.

It didn't even last out the week.

The beginning cusp of a new breeding season hadn't helped matters, it had only made him worse. Mating dai-shui, the musk males secreted during the season, and raging aggressive hormones coupled with traces of fertile female pheromones in the air... Well, it had been an insidiously potent mixture for a newly blooded male.

If he hadn't been intolerably regaling everyone in hearing distance about how superior he was, he'd been showing off for the females. And while at first, he'd been properly doing so in the kehrites, that soon turned into a brawling match on every corner over the littlest of c'jit; a careless bump, a warning growl, or even a wrong look in front of a desirable female, had been enough to set him roaring and shoving in challenge.

Though Vor'mekta Thei-de recalled, a bit wryly, while he hadn't impressed every female, he had ended up winning quite a few instigated challenges. He let loose a satisfied rumble. The rewards had been most... pleasurable.

Unfortunately, they'd tended to make him even more insufferable, while the losses, on the other hand, had only made him more determined.

So it was inevitable that sooner rather than later he had, in his inflated self-confidence, foolishly challenged someone he had no business of going up against, much less had a pauk-de chance in beating. His chosen opponent had been far older, larger, and entirely more skilled. Most likely an established Elite at the time, if he'd have cared to notice in his hormone-induced stupidity.

Truthfully, Vor'mekta Thei-de didn't remember much of the fight. Even less of who he'd fought where, or the reason it had started in the first place. It could have been over anything; a female, a piece of armor, an insult, a breeze blowing in the wrong direction. It didn't matter much why, or that he'd lost spectacularly and very painfully.

What mattered was what came after. What had made him think past himself.

An older, large Yautja had kicked him in the leg to get his attention, as he'd been lying on his blood slick back, trying desperately to catch his breath through rebroken ribs and a thoroughly battered body. And ego.

"It is worth it?" The new arrival had asked, curiously looking down on him.

Struggling to partially sit up, he'd looked up questioningly, fuming at being soundly trounced, and now interrupted. "What is?" He'd growled out, annoyed beyond belief.

The Yautja had gestured at him, not in the least taking note of his sour mood. "What you're dying for. Like this." There had been a mild disgust in the words, and then the same curious question. "Is it worth it?"

"I am not dying." He'd huffed out, offended to his core, gracelessly flopping back down. Silently he'd admitted to himself, that the next day, he might've wished he had.

Even now, Vor'mekta Thei-de remembered the shadow of that pulsing pain. He'd felt much worse before he'd gotten better. His eyes squinted, mandibles curving inward stiffly in a wince, recalling his next words to the male. He really had been an insufferable c'jit.

"But if I were, isn't the chance to mate a worthy female worth dying for?" He'd said smugly. "Or acquiring a coveted weapon or unique awu'asa?"

The Yautja had made a considering, trilling noise in his throat "First, you'd have to be alive and in fine condition to appreciate all three." He'd given him a pointed, and if he hadn't been mistaken, contemptuous look. "And second..." The male had made a show of looking around, greying head-spines swaying languidly down his broad back "I don't see any females, weapons, or armor anywhere."

Following the older males' gaze, he had realized, in mandible-dropping surprise, that they'd ended up the only two beings in the spacious hallway. He must have lost consciousness for a moment there at some point. He cursed. Unsurprisingly, the spectators had left, losing interest in a thoroughly defeated Yautja.

He'd looked sideways at the male then, and noticed he was being intently studied. And whatever conclusions had been drawn, the male wasn't sharing. Yet.

Turning swiftly, the older Yautja had ordered, "Follow me."

Even now Vor'mekta Thei-des' muscles twitched to obey, as they had that day long ago, recalling the snapping tone of that command. It was, unsurprisingly, an ingrained response for any young Yautja after two decades under a merciless training master.

At the time he'd ruthlessly fought the instinct, remaining down on his back. He'd growled sullenly in a show of stubbornness "I have no desire to leave the comfort of my position." Besides, he hadn't been exactly sure he could have gotten up. His chest had been on fire.

Stopping a few paces away, the older one had turned his head slightly, mocking "Vor'mekta Thei-de, a rare Chiva Slayer of Heard Meat Queens. Isn't that what you've been called recently? I would think such a male would be able to get up on his own..." He'd paused for effect. "Without being dragged out of this pauking hallway on his ass by his spines."

Successfully pricked, he'd growled wordlessly in a new surge of ferocious stubbornness. But after a drawn-out moment, somehow instinctively knowing the older male did not make idle threats, and considering his own poor condition, Vor'mekta Thei-de had staggered up off the metal floor and had felt the unpleasantness of cooling blood slicking down his battered body. He'd hidden his wincing with willfully tucked in mandibles and worked to keep his breath even and slow. Unwilling to acknowledge even a hint of pain to the pauking male bothering him.

The older male had only grunted in satisfaction and stalked down the hallway.

Stumbling at first, Vor'mekta Thei-de had righted himself, ignoring the screaming pain in his torso, leg and shoulders, and strove to keep up to the annoying sprightly old Yautja. Displeased, he'd questioned with a wheezing chuff. "Where are you taking me?" Privately he'd hoped it was a med bay or his chamber. Rest had never been so appealing, not even after his Chiva.

The aggravating Yautja hadn't answered.

They'd walked what had felt like leagues in his poor state, but were in fact just a few longer turns down different ship hallways. Where they'd ended up was a bit of a surprise, if memory served.

They'd stopped to stand on a curved balcony, directly above the Judgment Chamber of the Clan Ship. And below, in the round room of Arbitrarial domain, an executing had been underway.

Vor'mekta Thei-de had leaned forward in curiosity, silently observing the heavily chained Badblood kneeling in the center of the spacious room, surrounded by three Clan Arbiters in full armor, wearing their signature blood-red capes. And wondered to himself, why he'd been brought here to witness this. He hadn't asked, an undefinable instinct had kept him silent.

After a moment, the older male had crossed his massive arms, facing the lower chamber. His sharp claws had softly rasped over old scars on the scales of his arms. The male had looked down at the Badblood with a judgemental air. "That one, like many, had promise, but he didn't have purpose." Following a heavy pause, he'd shrugged his shoulders in a careless fashion, adding "Not that it matters much now."

An Arbitrator below prepared a long, curved blade.

Vor'mekta Thei-de remembered he'd almost roared his next words, he'd been so offended at what he'd perceived as veiled insinuation.

He'd straightened abruptly from his pained slouch beside the antagonizing male. "I am nothing like him!" Turning swiftly to glare menacingly at the larger Yautja, he had subconsciously sized him up, tense and ready to fight. He'd dropped the arm cradling his bruised torso, stupidly thinking he'd even had a whiff of a chance. "I am not a Badblood!" He'd hissed in outrage, mandibles flaring and spines raising in an unmistakable show of aggression.

The older male had only glanced at him without turning, not giving the slightest c'jit about his posturing. "No." The Yautja had agreed amiably, angling his head to the side to indicate the kneeling Badblood. "Though I imagine he would have said the same a few solars ago."

Vor'mekta Thei-de had kept silent with effort, but for a continuous low, rolling growl. He hadn't known how much time had passed while he'd kept his challenging glare and stance. Though it had been incredibly difficult to maintain, he'd ignored the agony of his protesting wounds, determined not to show weakness.

Somewhere down and a ways off, his peripheral vision had noted the glint of a rising blade.

The male had rumbled something unintelligible, the only words he'd caught "Pauk-de... from impetuous..." Dismissing the scene below them, the male had turned his head to look at him with a weighted stare, just as a curved blade sang in the air, followed a heartbeat later by a meaty thud. Asking mildly "What is your purpose, young one?"

It had taken everything in Vor'mekta Thei-de to relax his tense muscles, to release his anger at the perceived insult. The metallic scent of blood that had filled the air hadn't helped to lower his aggressive instincts. Exhaling a long breath, he'd silently leaned his hip on the metal of the railing, taking shallow labored breaths. "The Hunt." He'd grunted. The answer had come without thought.

The male had chuffed, the sound derisive this time. "If I were your training Master, pup, I'd knock your tusks lose for that lazy answer." The male had blithely ignored the dangerous growl coming from beside him, continuing unfazed. "The Hunt is everything to Yautja. It is our very definition as a race." The male had flicked his claws at the headless Badblood still kneeling defeated below them. "He had hunted as well. For decades he'd hunted for the Clan, for his status and his ambition."

"As do we all. Why had he been executed then?" He'd asked impatiently, not even glancing below. Not really interested in the answer. The conversation had become tiresome, keeping him from his comforts. He'd had nothing to do with that disgraced warrior rewarded for his miserable fate. Perhaps he'd seen the Hunter in passing on the ship, but that had been all. He hadn't known him.

At that point, Vor'mekta Thei-de recalled, he'd been at the edge of exhaustion, wanting to get the seemingly senseless conversation over and done with so he could get some much-needed rest.

The older Yautja, perhaps sensing his dismissive mood, had turned sharply and aggressively stepped into his personal space. The male had carelessly ignored the warning rattle rising from his throat, and had instead swiftly splayed a clawed hand on the center of his chest, propelling him with unexpected force into the metal support beam, that had been a moment ago, a few paces from his back.

The impact had knocked the air right out of Vor'mekta Thei-de with a yelp of agony, pain flaring like a spewing volcano throughout his whole body.

Keeping him pinned, the larger male had growled menacingly "And when hunting isn't enough? The prey not challenging enough, the achievement not great enough, not glorious enough,...What then, pup? What next?"

The male had then lowered his head slowly, unnervingly stopping a claw length away from his wide unfocused eyes. "Mind me, pup. Badbloods are not created in a cycle. It takes many wrong turns, most of them deliberate, to lose your way from The Path Paya fated for us."

Shoving away abruptly, the male had released him then, calmly stepping back, but had kept his gaze trapped "That one..." He'd motioned down at the cooling corpse. "Had been like you. An exemplary specimen. Dedicated, strong, victorious." The male had paused meaningfully "Bloodlust rises easily unchecked without the tapering hand of discipline."

The Yautja had shrugged "Maybe if he had limited himself to killing only a few, allegedly faultless, warriors of another species, which the Enforcers could not prove as truly offending... And thus the Arbitrators could not be sufficiently moved to act..." The male had paused to shake out his tense shoulders, the metal on his spines sounding condemningly loud in the silence, before continuing. "However, time proved his new nature. He had moved on to include the old, the infirm, the females, and even the young of any species he alone deemed worthy of a brutal culling no true Yautja would call a Hunt."

Staying where he was, leaning tiredly against the support beam also supporting him, Vor'mekta Thei-de had asked through rasping breaths -which he had a few yits later admitted in the privacy of his chamber- a rather stupid question. "Why wasn't he exiled?" It's fair to say he had also concluded, in that later private time, that pain must have addled his brain.

The male had given him a withering look. "Perhaps that would have been an option. If that were the whole of it. Tell me..." The Yautja had then prowled closer again, a curious tilt to his head "Do you truly think a predator, with a nature such as that, stops at outsiders?"

He hadn't needed to give much thought for a swift and honest answer "No."

"No." The male had agreed, stepping away again. "I mentioned a name earlier. One you should be familiar with from puphood."

The sudden change of topic had briefly thrown him, and it had taken him a few moments replaying their conversation to pinpoint the name. "Paya"

"The Huntress. Sei-i. As we all have, you've heard this in your first lessons at your Dams knee."

He'd opened his maw to tell the male to spare him the tale. But was overruled by a dangerous growl. In a rare show of young wisdom, Vor'mekta Thei-de had closed his mandibles with an audible click.

"Mind me, pup. It bears repeating." The older Yautja had said, and with a trill of humour added, "Though I will spare you the yits long version."

Turning his back to the bloody chamber below them, the male had flicked his long spines out of the way and leaned his weight on the railing, clicking in a reflective tone "In essence, Paya gives Yautja life and meaning. She puts us on The Path leading to the Dark Warrior Cetanu, where our journeys, however long they last, are spent with them both. And while She is our beginning, pointing the way, Cetanu's shadow always walks with us. He will be there at our end..." The male had crossed his arms, at ease "Both will ultimately judge our worthiness to join the Eternal Hunting Grounds, where the prey is ever plentiful, challenging, and the victories glorious."

The male had paused, then chuffed "Personally it's all c'jit to me. I'm too old to hunt forever."

Staring speechless for an amazed moment, Vor'mekta Thei-de had let lose a surprised, choking laugh, cut short the instant hot agony in his chest had overcame his appreciation for the humour.

The Yautja had trilled back, amused. Flicking his claws at him, the male had continued. "Ultimately, young one. It doesn't matter if you believe in Gods, Paths, Fate or Eternal Promises. The point is this... Everyone dies. Everyone can kill. Life always ends in death, and death is a pauking pointless waste without purpose and honor to give it weight and meaning."

Stepping up to him, the old male caught his eyes, his tone grave "Life itself is an honor, and for a Yautja... Honor is sacred. So, my question remains. What are you living for?"

The feel of his wristblades retracting brought Vor'mekta Thei-de out of the past and into the present. Like in the memory of that hollow chamber long ago, there was the metallic scent of blood in the air, though this was only a trace amount, too faint to be a gushing injury.

Violently shaking off the last of the coiled tension from his shoulders, Vor'mekta Thei-de crouched back down, close beside the Ooman. She hadn't been attacking, he mused, only trying to escape him. Though he grudgingly admitted, it might have been a good attempt, had she actually succeed in only downing him and not herself as well. Not that it would have stopped him for long. He was certain he would have caught her before she'd have managed to alert anyone.

Picking a few shards of glass from her faceplate, Vor'mekta Thei-de looked at her ugly, smooth face, as much as he could see of it, and made up his mind. He would keep to Honor. Until he couldn't.

Moving his hands under her knees and shoulders, he pulled her to his chest and stood, a part of him profoundly disturbed by the feel of her. The shape was oddly familiar. However, the size, weight and texture were distinctly not. She felt only slightly right and mostly wrong.

Dismissing his thoughts with a rattling shake of his head, Vor'mekta Thei-de walked in the direction of his docked vessel.

Their Paths had crossed, and it seemed Fate had in mind for them to walk The Path together. For now.


	7. Chapter 7

"Oh Stars, my head."I moan out, at the feel of incandescent agony pulsating behind my closed eyes. "What the hells happened?"

 _I feel like I've been hit by a meteor._ Or had another epic bender with Olivia and Eddy. Which, come to think of it, after the last time we'd actually had a weekend off together, it _**had**_ made me wish that I'd been hit by a speeding, fiery space rock. That hangover had been spectacular and somehow this one felt even worse. _Geez._

"What did we do?" I groan out like a dying animal, trying to figure out if it were the Saturn Slammers that did me in this time or the Martian Martinis. _Ugh, I just hope there's no awkward good-mornings with a random Space-Jockey sprawled naked next to me._ And while an occasional one-night stand wasn't unheard of (hey, they were a fun diversion for a single woman on a remote space station with a limited choice of men!), I really didn't have the energy to deal with anyone right now. Much less someone expecting me in a reasonably good mood if the sex had been decent.

Right now, I wouldn't have been surprised to learn a shuttle had ploughed into me, instead of its pilot. _Oh, oww._

I lay completely still as I am, on my back, listening for any indication of company; snoring, a rustle of fabric or water running in my tiny bathroom. After a few blessedly silent minutes, I sigh, relieved that there's no one else in the room with me. And more importantly, not in bed with me. _Maybe he already left?_ I wonder, sincerely hoping that the unknown 'he' hadn't been here at all. I'm rooting for option two, since I figure, what's the point of a night of boning if you can't remember it.

 _Though a hot guy with an even hotter cup of coffee would almost be worth the aggravation._ I think as I try to lick my dry lips with an even dryer tongue. My mouth feels like I chewed on one of those super-absorbent rags we keep on the docks, and instead of sucking up an oil spill on the floor, it had sucked up every single drop of moisture in my body. _Ick._ I wince at the mental image that conjures up and instantly regret it as a flash of hot misery seers my face like a welding torch, "Fuck! OW! What-"

My hand flies up to my cheek and I pop my eyes open in shock. Well, one of my eyes opens, the other is almost swollen shut! "-THE FUCK!?-"

Freaked, I bolt upright and use my hands to feel my injured face, and in the same panicked motion, I veer off instead to clutch my forehead. I tip over on my side with a pained cry as (swear to Jupiter!) my head almost explodes! _Sweet Stars, sonic booms are going off in my skull!_ I curl up and whimper, desperately trying to breathe through the pulsing torment.

And guess what? Crying doesn't help. It just amplifies the pain in my face. Great.

I don't know how long it takes, I'm not even sure I'm conscious through all of it, but after what feels like centuries, the sonic booms taper off into orchestra drums. And after another handful of decades into a bulkhead gun (ya know, the kind that explosively shoots giant rivets into space alloyed hulls. Sucker's loud as fuck).

More months pass, I'm sure, by the time my head gets to an aching rhythmic throb I think I can survive. Maybe.

 _Okay, let's try this again. Carefully this time_ _._ I caution myself before slowly opening my...eye. The left one can only open a sliver and I close it quickly because the awful ache that action produces just isn't worth it. However, I stare dumbly with my right one, in utter shock, at the tuft of dark, rust-red fur sticking up in front of my face. _When did I get a fur throw?_ I blink, stupefied, and blow out a gust of air, watching the pelt hairs lean away from me. Spying my hand splayed close, I flex my fingers into the soft fur and, _It feels...real._

I'm so engrossed in that inexplicable sight, it takes me a moment to realize that this is not, in fact, my damn bed. Not my damn room. And, most importantly, not any damn room I have ever seen, or heard of, on the Station for that matter! Not that I've been in all of them, but I'd definitely remember someone boasting of a fur-lined bed!

I hesitantly lift my head a little, to better shift my wide-eye around... I'd also remember anyone mentioning orange-ish lighting and odd-looking carvings on the walls. Feeling my jaw drop, I blink. "Where the fuck am I?"

Slowly, carefully propping myself on my arm first and then my hand as I shift to sit up, I keep looking around like I've never seen a bedroom before in my life. _Not like this one, you haven't._ My stunned brain supplies helpfully. It's not wrong. The only indication that this _**is**_ someone's bedroom is the obvious huge-ass bed I'm currently sitting in the middle of. There's nothing else in this room to go by, other than Satan's recessed mood lighting and the Cult-ish carvings everywhere I glance at.

Which I'm really putting an effort in to ignore to keep from getting hysterical.

I again wonder where the fuck I am. And adding to that, _How the fuck did I get here?_

Closing my eye, I take slow deep breaths and distractedly pet the furry bed, trying desperately to keep myself calm, because I can feel my imagination wanting to go to unpleasant places, and I'd really rather delay that trip for as long as I can. There's no other choice.

Breath in. "It's alright." Out. "You're fine." In. "Okay." Out. "Not fine, but..." In "You're alive." Out. "Keep calm." In. "You'll be fine." Out. "Just breathe." In.

While I'm doing this, there's something nagging at me, like a forgotten word at the tip of your tongue. An important word. Like if you said that one word, you can't recall in the moment, it would give perfect meaning to what you're trying to say. And I can't...grasp it. It's making me tense. And weirdly nervous. _What am I forgetting that's so important? Is it connected to this... place? What did I_ _ **do**_ _last...night?_

"Ugh, my head." I groan out miserably and rub it as it pulses against the strain of getting my thoughts in order. I lay back down and I just...breathe.

… "Don't think"... "rest" …my fingers slide through fur... "easy" … "slow" ...

I remember... I'd had a quick breakfast with Olivia...today? _Yesterday?_ I'm not sure... _How_ _long_ _have I been here?_ Panic rises... I push that disconcerting thought away and focus on what I _**do**_ remember.

_Right... Olivia. But before that..._

It had been my day off, but I'd gone to the mess after I'd met with Eddy...

She'd called me to the MedPod Suite at the ass-crack of dawn because Big Bob had been scheduled for a booster shot, hadn't had shown up, and she couldn't reach him. So she'd given me the injector the second I'd walked in (without the usual 'Morning, Zombie!' or anything!) and while I would've normally stopped to question if the Universe was ending, I'd mutely hauled ass out of there with an evilly cheerful wave, 'cause I'd heard Doctor (Snort!) Blake somewhere in the back of the Suite muttering to himself. (Dude's giant pain with the personality of a black hole, and no one wants to be near him if they can avoid it. Eddy deserves to be sainted! I'd have chucked him into Space years ago). And Eddy, being a good sport, hadn't given away my brief presence. She _had_ heekily stuck her tongue out at me before the doors had closed on my fleeing heels though.

I can't help but smile, _I'm definitely going to pay for that later._

As a friendly favor, I occasionally play Roaming-Assistant-Nurse for Eddy if/when she cant personally get out of the MedPod Suite to check on her patients. Either because Blake is being his dear, charming self and can't fart without her being present ( _poor Eddy!_ ) or because she's actually slammed with work. Which tends to happen more often than you'd think when you factor in fun-loving dockers, a Friday night bender and the use of heavy machinery while hungover.

_Wanna guess which one's the more frequent occurrence?_

And it wasn't like I was doing full-body exams on people without a license or shoving a catheter into anyone's piss hole. The check-ins are just a few little things here and there; like a missed shot, occasionally bandaging a small cut, or drawing a speck of blood for a field test. Nothing too complicated that Eddy can't prep me for in under ten minutes, or en route in a hurry. Though, if you ask me, it's only a matter of time before someone loses another finger, a leg, or even has an old fashion heart attack... and they'd rather just say 'meh' to the finger, bleed out of the stump or plain drop dead where they stand, than go see our delightful Station Doc for any kind of 'help'.

 _Eddy says I'm exaggerating._ _ **I**_ _think it's a valid concern. Have I mentioned Blake's an epic ass?_

So, injector tucked securely in a pocket and on my way, I had been thinking of going the scenic route through the Greenhouse, when my empty stomach had loudly informed me breakfast was indeed the most important meal of the day, and I'd need some before I could go hunting for a no-show Docker. I _had_ been starving since I hadn't eaten in a while (the weird-ass Pod-Thing had had a lot of my attention). Plus, it hadn't hurt that Olivia was a damned fine Station Chef who could do miracles with whatever powder, cube or paste served as freeze-dried ingredients.

_Honestly, if it weren't for her, this Station would have been abandoned years ago!_

My empty stomach leading the way, I'd made it to the Mess before the morning rush, or so I'd thought at the time... really, I'd just been happy to see no line at the serving station. In hindsight, I know I should have been more observant, noticed the large room had been eerily empty and quiet. Should have asked a question or two of the few people scattered there about the latest news, gossip, anything... But at that moment, food had been the top priority in my sleep-fuzzy head. Especially when the hint of cinnamon pancakes had hit my nose...

So I'd just grabbed a tray, nodded absently to the room in general as a greeting, and piled.

I moan lustily just recalling that delicious scent, and I'm literally salivating thinking about those fluffy suckers. Which is saying something, considering my body feels like a dried up, forgotten office weed. _Stars, am I thirsty._ "And hungry." I groan out loud as I longingly remember I'd helped myself to a huge serving of freshly made pancakes drowned in syrup. _Yum!_ Added the biggest cup of fully-loaded coffee I could find to my tray, and had chosen a table closest to the kitchen doors in case Olivia had a moment to spare and wanted to chat...

Seated with my back to the almost empty room, I'd spotted Liv instantly ( _hard not to, the woman has magenta hair_ ) marching around in her kitchen, like a surly Star-Ship Captain snapping off orders at a crew of two, through the large observation window behind the main serving counter. I'd hummed in pleasure taking my first bite, chewing enthusiastically.

My appreciation for Olivia skyrocketed ( _as it does every time she feeds me_ ) when my gaze had caught on Liv brandishing a whisk like it was a conductors wand. Or a bludgeoning instrument. I'd stopped chewing to stare with open-mouthed surprise.

I couldn't hear anything of what had been said ( _or shouted_ ) and had only looked on in amazement as her two assistants leaned away from her in obvious caution, unwilling to get accidentally clobbered by a kitchen utensil the length of her arm. While Olivia had flailed said arm about, ranting at them.

I hadn't expected a show that early in the morning, but I couldn't have ignored it to save my life!

The occasional Mess dramedies are usually entertaining as all cosmic hells. The last doozy had been about a month ago; where willowy Frank's ( _he is one of Olivias rotating cooking assistants_ ) enormous, Sec-Officer boyfriend had stormed into the Mess, wearing nothing but a towel knotted around his waist and a ferocious scowl, and had shrilly accused, a flabbergasted Frank, of holo-cheating with a pair of twins from one of the Gliese planets!

More than sixty people had turned to motionless meerkats in their seats that evening. Every single one of us, including the other Mess Staff, enthralled by the unfolding drama full of crying, pleading, running, counter hopping, grovelling, flour tossing and finally kissing. Needless to say, it had been a dinner to remember. Nudity may have been involved.

Silently I'd wondered what was going on this time while I shovelled delicious, cinnamon-flavoured heaven in my mouth and enjoyed today's mute show. ( _The kitchen viewing portal sure has it's uses!_ )

Olivia and her assistants had been in a sort of triangle, facing each other, and I'd googled when the flying whisk waived around madly again, Liv using it like she was literally whipping up a tornado out of wisps of thin air. I'd barely blinked and it had ended up a centimeter away from the nose of a startled assistant, pointing accusingly at him/her ( _I couldn't make out which assistant it was_ ) like it was a sword, instead of a bunch of wire loops on a handle, and him/her a dastardly villain, who'd diced instead of julienned.

I'd choke-swallowed my mouthful, trying not to chuckle and held my breath for bloodshed.

Liv had looked mad enough to combust. And I'd grinned to myself, ridiculously imaging Olivia actually getting pissed enough to whisk a persons nose-hair together! ( _though she'd probably need a smaller whisk_ )

 _That's our girl!_ I remember I'd thought with a touch of pride. _Top dog of her domain._

Which is, believe it or not, completely and utterly inconceivable to anyone who's never seen Liv in her element. I'm not exaggerating. Outside of it, on her own time, Olivia is a completely different person; shy and soft-spoken, never making the first step, always standing back, waiting to be noticed. But in the kitchen? In her space? In her comfort zone? Let's just say I have never, nor will I ever, volunteer to help out in there and leave it at that. I've seen more than one assistant reduced to tears while stirring over the years.

I honestly didn't think I had the fortitude. I hadn't even known it was possible to stir wrong!

Keeping my eyes on the trio, I'd leaned back, sipped my coffee and pondered what had happened that had been so horrendous as to warrant the threat of a whisking? And not even the quick, electric kind with safety features. No. But hand whisking! The old-old-old fashioned kind. The kind that took sustained effort and a good physical condition ( _or at the very least, rage_ ).

_Had they mixed up the salt and sugar? Not enough synth-butter in the sauce? Reconstituted eggs too mushy?-Too hard?-Not fluffy enough? Or Stars forbid... They'd singed the jellylike breakfast 'sausages'?_

I'd winced with perhaps a tiny trace of amusement in my sympathy, partly for Olivia and mostly for her helpers, as the whisk had taken flight for a third time. Only this time, it had ended up quivering under the nose of the other assistant.

A stray thought had occurred to me then, one that had had me jolting upright in a wash of cold horror and choking on my gulp of coffee, "Dear Jupiter! What day is it?" I'd sputtered out, clutching the table in a death grip, as it slowly dawned on me; it was _that_ day. The day once a month when Olivia personally made her pride and joy.

And I'd looked around wildly, "Please, someone tell me they didn't fuck with the Strudel!?" hoping anyone hearing me would adamantly deny it.

The three people at the back of the room had only looked up long enough to shrug, or hesitantly tip their heads at me before they'd ducked back down to eat, and went on pretending they were invisible. All the while, still discretely watching the show.

Everyone had known for years ( _and if they didn't, they learn it fast_ ) that Liv was inordinately proud of that dish. Nit-picking-ly. Scarily proud. I think the recipe had been in her family for generations. She'd even claimed it had originally come from Earth. You know, THE Earth? Birthplace of Humanity? Cradle of life in the Sol System? Yeah, that Earth! And no one, but NO ONE, went near, touched or made that dish, other than Olivia herself.

So I'd swallowed audibly and turned back to the kitchen window, as Liv's assistants had tried to placate their Boss with a lot of pleading gestures, encouraging nodding and hesitant almost-but-not-quite touching shoulder pats. While Olivia had stood unmoved through their awkward overtures, like a spurned lover dealing with remorseful suitors. ( _If only I'd known!_ )

Something had told me that's exactly what they'd done. They'd messed with the Strudel.

 _Sweet Supernovas in Space._ I'd shuddered and stared at the two idiots facing their doom. _They're dead._ I'd thought flatly. _They might as well finish the job and eject themselves from the closest airlock._ And startled as Liv had grabbed a blackened sheet-pan and whirled with it, still obviously reading them the riot act.

Not sure what she'd intended to do with it ( _hopefully not homicide_ ), I'd waved my fork when Olivia visibly noticed me sitting at my table, staring at them in absorbed fascination. Like they were an intergalactic production of Universal Chef and I'd just been waiting, in stomach-churning anticipation, for her to rip her assistants' aprons off and flambe 'em right in front of their shocked faces. Or worse.

Once, I'd personally witnessed a guy get banned from the Mess for a _**month**_ because he'd casually commented to a friend sitting next to him ( _within earshot of the Chef!_ ) that Liv's food was tasteless and wet. ( _I still cringe to imagine what that guy had eaten for a month_.)

I hadn't dared to imagine what she'd do if someone actually burnt her sweet, flaky, apple stuffed baby.

I admit I had been a tad relieved, a moment later, when Olivia had briefly turned to her helpers, said something dismissive and had walked away, dropping off the sooty sheet-pan as she'd went. I'd drooped into my seat, glad that I hadn't needed to go in there and save those morons from themselves. Mainly because I hadn't been sure how I would have accomplished that if I'd had to. _Maybe sprayed them with water?_

I'd glanced down at my half-eaten breakfast and shrugged, deciding I'd rather eat my food than worry about 'what if's.

And just as I'd taken another bite, Liv had dropped into the seat in front of me with a gusty sigh, "They burned my Strudel."

I'd made a commiserating sound as I chewed, acknowledging how much that dish meant to her. And maybe, juuust maybe, I'd also been a teeny tiny bit smug that I'd called it.

"I saw you staring at us. With your mouth open, I might add." Liv had said, trying to share her bad mood. "I could also see you selected the cinnamon pancakes without looking at your tray."

I'd rolled my eyes and for good measure, leaned forward to demonstrate my open-mouthed mastication skills.

"Kay!" Liv had yelled out and rolled her eyes back, fighting laughter "You're being disgusting."

Happy to get her mind out of the kitchen, I'd shrugged, swallowed my mouthful and greeted cheerfully, "Good morning, Starshine!" Pointing out we were both manner-less beasts.

"Good morning, Kay." Liv had dutifully parroted back with a resigned sort of grin, and asked "Not that I'm not happy to see you, but what are you doing here so early? I thought you were still holed up with that weird piece of space junk?" She'd paused, then added "How's that going, by the way? Any progress?"

I'd taken a big bite and chewed thoughtfully, delaying my response.

It had never been a secret, my inordinate fascination with that 'weird-ass Pod-Thing' as Jonah dubbed it, not to mention my supreme frustration with making zero progress getting that damned thing open. Both Liv and Eddy had pointed out recently that my 'obsession' was perhaps getting a bit unhealthy. And maybe they'd been right. I'd missed last weeks Vid Night and quite a few of our hanging out opportunities.

Even now, I wince with a prick of guilt. _I'll need to make up for that. Somehow._

Finishing my mouthful, I'd answered, "I'm up at this Star-Forsaken hour because of my love for Eddy." After a pause, I'd sighed loudly, "And the Pod Thing? I don't know. I can't seem to figure it out." And it was driving me nuts.

"Ah." Liv had nodded, swiping my coffee. I'd narrowed my eyes at her dangerously while she, unfazed, had correctly asumed, "She's got you running around playing Tag-Nurse." and asked with a knowing look, "Blake riding her ass again?"

I'd snorted, "Not as he'd like." and rolled my eyes, assuring "Don't worry, he's just being his usual, delightful self."

Olivia had waved her hand, unconcerned "Eddy can deal with him."

"Oh, I know." I'd agreed with an evil little smirk, recalling the time Nurse Edwina Perez had put her foot down to Doctor Blake in front of an audience. It had been awesome. I'd never known a person could turn that shade of purple. "I just wish _**I**_ didn't have to leave my comfy bed because _**he**_ can't take a hint and piles on her for punishment."

Never one to miss an opening, Liv had, knowing how much I loved sleeping in, pointed out, "Serves you right for neglecting us."

At that jab, I'd childishly stuck out my tongue at her, "You're a mean lady."

Liv had shaken her head with a snort, and I'd sighed. Catching her hand, I'd squeezed her fingers and apologized, "I _**am**_ sorry about that, Olivia." And meant it.

"I know." Liv had squeezed back, "And it's okay. We all get distracted sometimes."

I'd felt tension I hadn't even known I'd had lower from my shoulders. I'd been worried. Taking a bracing breath, I'd ventured "Is that what happened with the... dessert? Someone got distracted?"

"No. Well... yes." Liv had confirmed reluctantly with a bit of hesitation, and I'd frowned at the sudden look of misery on her face when she'd added, "Honestly? I got dumped."

Before I'd been able to wrap my head around that bombshell, she'd continued quickly. "And the burnt up dessert was really my own fault. I'd told Anika to turn up the heat because the oven's been glitching for weeks now, randomly dropping the temp. But I'd forgotten I'd told the same to Frank a few minutes before that!"

Olivia had thrown her hands up in a universal what-the-hell gesture, exasperated, "The kitchen's chaos! We're suddenly shorthanded and with all of us rushing around, getting the prep out of the way for lunch... and cleaning up at the same time... But I'm used to it. I thrive in it!" She'd said with a fierce look that deflated, and swiped a hand over her eyes, "I was about to check on the temp when out of nowhere, I get a message ping from Han giving me the 'it's me, not you' spiel...and I...I froze. I just stopped. Just stood there like a lump of dough for as long as it took the oven to start smoking. Staring at my wrist."

Liv had given me a humorless look, shrugging "So...burnt Strudel." Then she'd cracked a wry smile, and said "On the bright side, there's grovelling in my future. I'm going to have to apologize to Anika and Fra-"

"Wait a minute!" I'd interrupted, completely astounded. I'd had questions, so many questions! "What do you mean you got dumped?" I'd demanded, like an overprotective parent questioning their teenager. "And, Han? Who's Han? Does this station even house a Han?" Baffled, it's fair to say, I'd almost shouted the next bit, "I didn't even know you were dating anyone!"

Through my barrage Liv and I had stared at each other, each of us probably thinking the other was a few eggs short of a full carton. And before she'd opened her mouth to try answering, or to tell me to mind my own 'biscuits'. I'd rolled on, "What does he do? What department does Han belong to? Is he one of the Dockers? The Maintenance guys? A Space-Jockey?" I'd ended up standing, my hands braced on the table, leaning forward like an official interrogator. Most of me had wanted to know the answers because Olivia was one of my best friends. And I loved her. The rest of me... had wanted them to make sure, there was one less heartbreaking Han in the Galaxy.

Olivia had only blinked up at me with her dark eyes like a bored cat. "Oh sit down, you lunatic." When I'd hesitated, she'd narrowed her eyes at me and snapped in her obey-or-die Chefs voice, "Sit!"

Recalling the flying whisk of doom... I'd sat.

"Remember that night when Frank's boy toy showed up and wrongly accused him of being unfaithful?" Olivia had said, giving me a sarcastic look that'd said she already had parents and didn't need another one. The message clear; I was to shut it and listen.

I'd grinned at her, unrepentant. We'd both known I'd butt in if I'd wanted to. But I'd nodded dutifully like friends are supposed to. And I'd indeed remembered that whole episode. Still did. Everyone did! Especially when the towel had gotten snagged, and there had suddenly been another kind of hot-buns on view the kitchen.

"Well..." She'd started, but paused for an embarrassment-covering throat clearing and soldiered on, "Mini's the one that gave me the idea to try one of those Galactic Match sites." Liv had explained, while I'd battled unsuccessfully to reconcile the giant butt-naked Sec-Officer to his diminutive name. "So I did. And I met... Han. We... holo-chatted. A lot."

Olivia had blushed at that, and I'd remained silent only by the grace of our decade long friendship. How I'd managed to only raise a provoking eyebrow, I'll never know. My thought, however, had been obvious; _Holo-sex, Olivia? Really?_

She'd only rolled her eyes back at me with a huff. Her thought obvious too; _Mind your own damned biscuit, woman.'_

 _There had probably been more to that... to what lead to her decision, I mean._ However, I'd only nodded again. "Okay." Olivia would share when she was ready. _Or I'd nag until she did._

Her amused exasperation with me dissipated with her next sentence, "I...I really thought it was going great." And it had hurt my heart to hear the sadness in my friends' soft voice "We clicked, you know? Talked all the time when we could. Agreed on a lot of things and good-naturedly argued about others. I thought we had a compatible point of view. Han seemed sweet, funny... and kinda hot in an asteroid-miner kind of way." She'd waggled her eyebrows, and we'd shared a small smile.

Then her smile had fallen, and I'd wanted to strangle Han all over again, "But then, out of nowhere, he's too busy. He suddenly doesn't have time for a serious relationship. The plans we'd made to meet up on Gliese667Cd were, all at once, unrealistic..." Liv had shaken her head, bewildered, and murmured mostly to herself "What did I do wrong?"

That plaintive question coming out of that sweet woman had made me scowl in blazing fury.

For thirty seconds, I had glared blindly over Olivia's shoulder and viciously cursed Han in my head, calling him every low-life name I could think of in a hurry. And silently promised (to Olivia and myself), that If I ever ran into Han, he was going to **_**suffer**_**. Immensely.

Taking a deep breath, I'd released it slowly. "Darling-" I'd started, and grasped her hand to get her full attention, recalling that I'd been in her shoes once or twice. "Fuck him. You did nothing wrong, Olivia." I'd said vehemently, looking her right in her misty, chocolate eyes, "You are an amazing, sweet, caring woman... With unmatched cooking skills." I'd teased a little. "And I swear, one day, you'll find an amazing, sweet, caring man... With unmatched cleaning skills. And the two of you'll have adorable little hellions, that will test those combined skills like nobody's business. Okay?"

I'd waited until she nodded a bit and then smiled, "But until then...you have me and Eddy, and we'll do our best to keep the loneliness at bay as best we can..." after a lengthy pause, I'd winked saucily "We'll even take turns cuddling you in bed at night, until your future man gets knocked in the ass by a cosmic clue and comes looking for his woman."

Olivia had stared at me for a long moment, then burst out laughing "You better not hog the covers, Kay!"

I'd given her a haughty, offended ' _Who?_ _ **Me**_ **?** ' look and grinned back, relieved that my friend was smiling again.

Still chucking, Liv had taken a sip from my forgotten coffee cup. And promptly gagged. Had made faces like it was the most vile thing she'd ever tasted in her life. Looking at me with a Chef's horror, she'd wailed "Eww, Kay! What did you do to this?"

I'd laughed uproariously, thoroughly enjoying her full-body shudder and sounds of disgust. Taking my cup back, I'd drained the stone-cold brew in it with exaggerated pleasure, "Mmmm". After which I'd smacked my lips at her, and told her loftily "This is how coffee is supposed to taste, you uncultured peon!"

I'd ducked a flying pastry brush with a shriek of laughter.

It hadn't been long after that that Olivia and I had said a quick 'bye' - 'see ya' and had gone our separate ways. Her to finish up her shift, and me to find a squeamish docker who was going to bend over so I could give him a little prick...

...But I didn't find Big Bob...

...Someone found me...ran into me? No...shoved me!...

_Ugh. Wait. It's coming back to me._

...still-water eyes...gorgeous man...Commander Scott...armored squad...

...They were taking over the Station, Jonah said... in his office... people gone... and a surge...

"Dead Dock!" I gasp out. My eyes... _ouch, no_ _..._ my _**eye**_ flies open and I roll over to the edge of the fur bed, using it to stagger to my feet. A groan escapes me, my whole body sore and aching. _Right, I ran a dammed full-tilt sprint through the dock._

I can't actually remember the last time I'd run like my ass was on fire. Probably not since I was last planet-side, and I think I had been running to catch a transport somewhere... I shrug, the action making me wobble with dizziness. _Doesn't matter, that was a lifetime ago._ These days, I tended to be more of a slow jogger, or a fast walker, when I had to do my mandatory exercise routines. It never occurred to me I'd be running for my life someday. And to be honest, I don't think it would have made much of a difference if it had. I hate running. (It's nonsensical to me how people find pleasure in it.)

My head is still throbbing something fierce and I've added the delightful sensation of vertigo to my general non-wellbeing. "I need to ge out of here." I mutter as I weave my way to the wall in front of me, like a barely together drunk trying to walk a straight line. And upon reaching it with a jarring thud, shoulder first, "Shit." I swear as the imapct makes my headache worse. I lean my body into it, hoping that if I clutch at something solid, my world might stop spinning.

Pressing my forehead into the cool, textured metal, I close my eye, feeling unpleasantly like I'm going to heave. Pleading "Stars. Someone let me off this demented shuttle ride."

I slowly slide against the wall, hands blindly stroking for the edge of a doorway, but all I feel are raised lines, shapes, squiggles and dots, absolutely everywhere over the surface. _Wow, someone, as far as I can tell, actually embossed every centimeter of the wall_ _._ Can't say that I'm not impressed. However, It would have been _**even**_ more impressing, if that 'someone' had put a damned door where I could find it!

Slapping the metal with a hand, I stop and roll my forehead on it from one side to the other with a gusty sigh, mildly thinking, _I could scream, I'm so... frustrated_. And I most likely would have, if I didn't have to worry about my head going 'kaboom'.

Tears gather and I swallow past the tightening in my throat, whispering "Please. Let me out." I breathe shallow breaths. My insides are starting to tremor and I swear I don't know how much longer I'll be able to hold it together. _There's something dark creeping in my memories._ I think with an icy shudder. Something old. Something long buried.

"Please." A sob escapes me and I clench my teeth, digging my fingers into the wall. _I'm getting tired._ So tired of the unending pain. The uncertainty. And most of all, from being strong and keeping from giving in to the inevitable. The shadows I keep locked away in my head whisper to get out and _I can't let them_.

I'm so wrapped up in the darkness of my mounting misery, I'm totally unprepared for the wall in front of my nose to suddenly part down the center and disappear.

The door opening is blink-quick and completely silent. With a shocked, "aaAH!" I pitch forward, face-first, into a hot, solid barrier made out of shades of green and cream scales.

Both of us grunt at the unexpected impact.

I'm frozen. And I dazedly think, _he is too_. My splayed hands landed just above the dips of his elbows and the rest of me is plastered to his front from thighs to hairline... while above me, a nightmare-fuel clicking sound rises warningly in volume...

I ignore it, or rather I overlook the warning part because the clicking is another thing I can focus on, another thing bringing be back from the edge...

The monster had come, and he didn't know it, but he saved me.


End file.
